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CHARACTERISTICS. 


^mc^td  anti  €$m0' 


BY 


A.  P.  RUSSELL, 

AUTHOR  OF  "LIBRARY  NOTES." 


TITLES. 


The  Conversation  of  Coleridge. 

Sarah  Siddons. 

Doctor  Johnson. 

Lord  Macaulay. 

Lamb. 

Burns. 


The  Christianity  of  Woolman, 

John  Randolph  and  John  Brown. 

The  Audacity  of  Footb. 

Habit. 

The  Habit  of  Detraction. 

The  Art  of  Living. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

New  York:    11    East  Seventeenth   Street. 

1884. 


Copyright,  1883, 
By  ADDISON  PEALE  RUSSELL. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Catnhridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Ca 


CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

I.  The  Conversation  of  Coleridge     .        .        .       .      i 

II.  Sarah  Siddons .        23 

III.  Doctor  Johnson S^ 

IV.  Lord  Macaulay 74 

V.  Lamb 105 

VI.    Burns 132 

VII.  The  Christianity  of  Woolman       .       .       .       .160 

VIII.  John  Randolph  and  John  Brown       •       .       •       i9S 

IX.    The  Audacity  of  Foote 234 

X.    Habit .       .       .       •       255 

XL    The  Habit  of  Detraction 281 

XII.    The  Art  of  Living 309 


272910 


CHARACTERISTICS. 

I. 

THE   CONVERSATION   OF   COLERIDGE* 

De  Quincey.  It  was,  I  think,  in  the  month  of  August, 
but  certainly  in  the  summer  season,  and  certainly  in  the 
year  1807,  that  I  first  saw  this  illustrious  man,  the  largest 
and  most  spacious  intellect,  the  subtlest  and  the  most 
comprehensive,  in  my  judgment,  that  has  yet  existed 
amongst  men.  .  .  .  Little  points  of  business  being  set- 
tled, Coleridge,  like  some  great  river,  the  Orellana,  or 
the  St.  Lawrence,  that  had  been  checked  and  fretted  by 
rocks,  or  thwarting  islands,  and  suddenly  recovers  its  vol- 
ume of  waters,  and  its  mighty  music,  swept  at  once,  as  if 
returning  to  his  natural  business,  into  a  continuous  strain 
of  eloquent  dissertation,  certainly  the  most  novel,  the 
most  finely  illustrated,  and  traversing  the  most  spacious 
fields  of  thought,  by  transitions  the  most  just  and  logical, 
that  it  was  possible  to  conceive. 

Hazlitt.  I  had  heard  a  great  deal  of  Coleridge's 
powers  of  conversation,  and  was  not  disappointed.  In 
fact,  I  never  met"  with  any  thing  at  all  like  them,  either 
before  or  since.  I  could  easily  credit  the  accounts  which 
were  circulated  of  his  holding  forth  to  a  large  party  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  an  evening  or  two  before,  on  the 
Berkeleian  Theory,  where  he  made  the  whole  material 

*  "  Not  since  Pythagoras  does  an  equal  charm  seem  to  have  graced 
the  speech  of  any  man." 


2  CHARACTERISTICS. 

universe  look  like  a  transparency  of  fine  words;  and 
another  story  of  his  being  asked  to  a  party  at  Birma- 
ghan's,  of  his  smoking  tobacco  and  going  to  sleep  after 
dinner,  on  a  sofa,  where  the  company  found  him,  to  their 
no  small  surprise,  which  was  increased  to  wonder  when 
he  started  up  of  a  sudden,  and  rubbing  his  eyes,  looked 
about  him,  and  launched  into  a  three  hours'  description 
of  the  third  heaven,  of  which  he  had  had  a  dream. 

H.  N.  Coleridge.  Throughout  a  long-drawn  sum- 
mer's day  would  this  man  talk  to  you  in  low,  equable,  but 
clear  and  musical,  tones,  concerning  things  human  and 
divine;  marshaling  all  histor}^,  harmonizing  all  experi- 
ment, probing  the  depths  of  your  consciousness,  and  re- 
vealing visions  of  glory  and  of  terror  to  the  imagination ; 
but  pouring  withal  such  floods  of  light  upon  the  mind, 
that  you  might,  for  a  season,  like  Paul,  become  blind  in 
the  very  act  of  conversion.  And  this  he  would  do,  with- 
out so  much  as  one  allusion  to  himself,  without  a  word  of 
reflection  on  others,  save  when  any  given  act  fell  natu- 
rally in  the  way  of  his  discourse,  —  without  one  anecdote 
that  was  not  proof  and  illustration  of  a  previous  posi- 
tion; — gratifying  no  passion,  indulging  no  caprice,  but 
with  a  calm  mastery  over  your  soul,  leading  you  onward 
and  onward  forever  through  a  thousand  windings,  yet  with 
no  pause,  to  some  magnificent  point  in  which,  as  in  a 
focus,  all  the  party-colored  rays  of  his  discourse  should 
converge  in  light.  In  all  this  he  was,  in  truth,  your 
teacher  and  guide  ;  but  in  a  little  while  you  might  forget 
that  he  was  other  than  a  fellow-student  and  the  compan- 
ion of  your  way,  —  so  playful  was  his  manner,  so  simple 
his  language,  so  affectionate  the  glance  of  his  pleasant 
eye.  —  There  were,  indeed,  some  whom  Coleridge  tired, 
and  some  whom  he  sent  asleep.  It  would  occasionally  so 
happen,  when  the  abstruser  mood  was  strong  upon  him, 
and  the  visitor  was  narrow  and  ungenial.  I  have  seen 
him  at  times  when  you  could  not  incarnate  him,  —  when 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  3 

he  shook  aside  your  petty  questions  or  doubts,  and  burst 
with  some  impatience  through  the  obstacles  of  common 
conversation.  Then,  escaped  from  the  flesh,  he  would 
soar  upward  into  an  atmosphere  almost  too  rare  to  breathe, 
but  which  seemed  proper  to  him,  and  there  he  would  float 
at  ease.  Like  enough,  what  Coleridge  then  said,  his  sub- 
tlest listener  would  not  understand  as  a  man  understands 
a  newspaper ;  but,  upon  such  a  listener,  there  would  steal 
an  influence,  and  an  impression,  and  a  sympathy  ;  there 
would  be  a  gradual  attempering  of  his  body  and  spirit, 
till  his  total  being  vibrated  with  one  pulse  alone,  and 
thought  became  merged  in  contemplation  :  — 

And  so,  his  senses  gradually  wrapt 
In  a  half  sleep,  he  'd  dream  of  better  worlds, 
And  dreaming,  hear  thee  still,  O  singing  lark, 
That  sangest  like  an  angel  in  the  clouds  ! 

But  it  would  be  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  gen- 
eral character  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  conversation  was  ab- 
struse or  rhapsodical.  .  .  .  Mr.  Coleridge's  conversation 
at  all  times  required  attention,  because  what  he  said  was 
so  individual  and  unexpected.  But  when  he  was  dealing 
deeply  with  a  question,  the  demand  upon  the  intellect  of 
the  hearer  was  very  great ;  not  so  much  for  any  hardness 
of  language,  for  his  diction  was  always  simple  and  easy ; 
nor  for  the  abstruseness  of  the  thoughts,  for  they  gener- 
ally explained,  or  appeared  to  explain,  themselves  ;  but 
pre-eminently  on  account  of  the  seeming  remoteness  of 
his  associations,  and  the  exceeding  subtlety  of  his  tran- 
sitional links.  ...  It  happened  to  him  as  to  Pindar, 
who  in  modern  days  has  been  called  a  rambling  rhapso- 
dist,  because  the  connections  of  his  parts,  though  never 
arbitrary,  are  so  fine,  that  the  vulgar  reader  sees  them 
not  at  all.  But  they  are  there  nevertheless,  and  may  all 
be  so  distinctly  shown,  that  no  one  can  doubt  their  ex- 
istence ;  and  a  little  study  will  also  prove  that  the  points 
of  contact  are  those  which  the  true  genius  of  lyric  verse 


4  CHARACTERISTICS. 

naturally  evolved,  and  that  the  entire  Pindaric  ode,  in- 
stead of  being  the  loose  and  lawless  outburst  which  so 
many  have  fancied,  is,  without  any  exception,  the  most 
artificial  and  highly-wrought  composition  which  Time  has 
spared  to  us  from  the  wreck  of  the  Greek  Muse.  So  I 
can  well  remember  occasions,  in  which,  after  listening  to 
Mr.  Coleridge  for  several  delightful  hours,  I  have  gone 
away  with  divers  splendid  masses  of  reasoning  in  my 
head,  the  separate  beauty  and  coherency  of  which  I 
deeply  felt ;  but  how  they  had  produced,  or  how  they 
bore  upon  each  other,  I  could  not  then  perceive.  In 
such  cases  I  have  mused  sometimes  even  for  days  after- 
ward upon  the  words,  till  at  length,  spontaneously  as  it 
seemed,  "  the  fire  would  kindle,"  and  the  association 
which  had  escaped  my  utmost  efforts  of  comprehension 
before,  flashed  itself  all  at  once  upon  my  mind  with  the 
clearness  of  noonday  light. 

Mary  Cowden  Clarke.  It  was  in  the  summer  of 
182 1  that  I  first  met  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge.  It  was 
on  the  East  Cliff  at  Ramsgate.  He  was  contemplating 
the  sea  under  its  most  attractive  aspect :  in  a  dazzling 
sun,  with  sailing  clouds  that  drew  their  purple  shadows 
over  its  bright  green  floor,  and  a  merry  breeze  of  suffi- 
cient prevalence  to  emboss  each  wave  with  a  silvery  foam. 
...  As  he  had  no  companion,  I  desired  to  pay  my  re- 
spects to  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  —  and,  indeed, 
in  his  department  of  genius,  the  most  extraordinary  — 
man  of  his  age.  And  being  possessed  of  a  talisman  for 
securing  his  consideration,  I  introduced  myself  as  a  friend 
and  admirer  of  Charles  Lamb.  The  pass-word  was  suffi- 
cient, and  I  found  him  immediately  talking  to  me  in  the 
bland  and  frank  tones  of  a  standing  acquaintance.  A 
poor  girl  had  that  morning  thrown  herself  from  the  pier- 
head in  a  pang  of  despair,  from  having  been  betrayed 
by  a  villain.  He  alluded  to  the  event,  and  went  on  to 
denounce  the  morality  of  the  age  that  will  hound  from 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  5 

the  community  the  reputed  weaker  subject,  and  continue 
to  receive  him  who  has  wronged  her.  He  agreed  with 
me,  that  that  question  will  never  be  adjusted  but  by  the 
women  themselves.  Justice  will  continue  in  abeyance  so 
long  as  they  visit  with  severity  the  errors  of  their  own 
sex  and  tolerate  those  of  ours.  He  then  diverged  to  the 
great  mysteries  of  life  and  death,  and  branched  away  to 
the  sublime  question  —  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
Here  he  spread  the  sail-broad  vans  of  his  wonderful  im- 
agination, and  soared  away  with  an  eagle-flight,  and  with 
an  eagle  eye,  too,  compassing  the  effulgence  of  his  great 
argument,  ever  and  anon  stooping  within  my  own  spar- 
row's range,  and  then  glancing  away  again,  and  careering 
through  the  trackless  fields  of  ethereal  metaphysics.  And 
this  he  continued  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  never  pausing 
for  an  instant  except  to  catch  his  breath  (which,  in  the 
heat  of  his  teeming  mind,  he  did  like  a  school-boy  re- 
peating by  rote  his  task,)  and  gave  utterance  to  some  of 
the  grandest  thoughts  I  ever  heard  from  the  mouth  of 
man.  His  ideas,  embodied  in  words  of  purest  eloquence, 
flew  about  my  ears  like  drifts  of  snow.  He  was  like  a 
cataract  filling  and  rushing  over  my  penny-phial  capacity. 
I  would  only  gasp,  and  bow  my  head  in  acknowledgment. 
He  required  from  me  nothing  more  than  the  simple  rec- 
ognition of  his  discourse  ;  and  so  he  went  on  like  a 
steam-engine  —  I  keeping  the  machine  oiled  with  my 
looks  of  pleasure,  while  he  supplied  the  fuel :  and  that 
upon  the  same  theme,  too,  would  have  lasted  till  now. 
What  would  I  have  given  for  a  short-hand  report  of  that 
speech  !  And  such  was  the  habit  of  this  wonderful  man. 
Like  the  old  peripatetic  philosophers,  he  walked  about, 
prodigally  scattering  wisdom,  and  leaving  it  to  the  winds 
of  chance  to  waft  the  seeds  into  a  genial  soil.  —  My  first 
suspicion  of  his  being  in  Ramsgate  had  arisen  from  my 
mother  observing  that  she  had  heard  an  elderly  gentle- 
man in  the  public  library,  who  looked  like  a  dissenting 


6  CHARACTERISTICS. 

minister,  talking  as  she  never  heard  man  talk.  Like  his 
own  Ancient  Mariner,  when  he  had  once  fixed  your  eye 
he  held  you  spell-bound,  and  you  were  constrained  to 
listen  to  his  tale ;  you  must  have  been  more  powerful 
than  he  to  have  broken  the  charm  ;  and  I  know  no  man 
worthy  to  do  that.  He  did,  indeed,  answer  to  my  con- 
ception of  a  man  of  genius,  for  his  mind  flowed  on  "like 
the  Pontick  sea,"  that  "  ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb."  It  was 
always  ready  for  action  j  like  the  hare,  it  slept  with  its 
eyes  open.  He  would  at  any  given  moment  range  from 
the  subtlest  and  most  abstruse  question  in  metaphysics 
to  the  architectural  beauty  in  contrivance  of  a  flower  of 
the  fields;  and  the  gorgeousness  of  his  imagery  would 
increase,  and  dilate,  and  flash  forth  such  coruscations  of 
similes  and  startling  theories  that  one  was  in  a  perpetual 
aurora  borealis  of  fancy.  As  Hazlitt  once  said  of  him, 
"  He  would  talk  on  forever,  and  you  wished  him  to  talk 
on  forever.  His  thoughts  never  seemed  to  come  with 
labor  or  effort,  but  as  if  borne  on  the  gusts  of  genius, 
and  as  if  the  wings  of  his  imagination  lifted  him  off  his 
feet."  This  is  truly  as  poetically  described.  He  would 
not  only  illustrate  a  theory  or  an  argument  with  a  sus- 
tained and  superb  figure,  but  in  pursuing  the  current  of 
his  thought  he  would  bubble  up  with  a  sparkle  of  fancy 
so  fleet  and  brilliant  that  the  attention,  though  startled 
and  arrested,  was  not  broken.  He  would  throw  these 
into  the  stream  of  his  argument,  as  waifs  and  strays. 
Notwithstanding  his  wealth  of  language  and  prodigious 
power  in  amplification,  no  one,  I  think,  (unless  it  were 
Shakespeare  or  Bacon,)  possessed  with  himself  equal 
power  of  condensation.  He  would  frequently  comprise 
the  elements  of  a  noble  theorem  in  two  or  three  words ; 
and  like  the  genial  offspring  of  a  poet's  brain,  it  always 
came  forth  in  a  golden  halo.  I  remember  once,  in  dis- 
coursing upon  the  architecture  of  the  Middle  Ages,  he 
reduced  the  Gothic  structure  into  a  magnificent  abstrac- 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  / 

tion  —  and  in  two  words.    "  A  Gothic  cathedral,"  he  said, 
"  is  like  a  petrified  religion." 

Thomas  Carlyle.  Coleridge  sat  on  the  brow  of  High- 
gate  Hill,  in  those  years,  looking  down  on  London  and 
its  smoke-tumult,  like  a  sage  escaped  from  the  inanity  of 
life's  battles ;  attracting  towards  him  the  thoughts  of  in- 
numerable brave  souls  still  engaged  there.  ...  A  sub- 
lime man ;  who,  alone  in  those  dark  days,  had  saved  his 
crown  of  spiritual  manhood  ;  escaping  from  the  black 
materialisms,  and  revolutionary  deluges,  with  "God, 
Freedom,  Immortality"  still  his:  a  king  of  men.  The 
practical  intellects  of  the  world  did  not  much  heed  him, 
or  carelessly  reckoned  him  a  metaphysical  dreamer ;  but 
to  the  rising  spirits  of  the  young  generation  he  had  this 
dusky  sublime  character  ;  and  sat  there  as  a  kind  of 
Magus,  girt  in  mystery  and  enigma;  his  Dodona  oak 
grove  (Mr.  Gillman's  house  at  Highgate)  whispering 
strange  things,  uncertain  whether  oracles  or  jargon.  .  .  . 
Here  for  hours  would  Coleridge  talk,  concerning  all  con- 
ceivable or  inconceivable  things ;  and  liked  nothing  bet- 
ter than  to  have  an  intelligent,  or  failing  that,  even  a 
silent  and  patient  human  listener.  He  distinguished  him- 
self to  all  that  ever  heard  him  as  at  least  the  most  sur- 
prising talker  extant  in  this  world,  and  to  some  small 
minority,  by  no  means  at  all,  as  the  most  excellent.  —  The 
good  man,  he  was  now  getting  old,  towards  sixty,  perhaps ; 
and  gave  you  the  idea  of  a  life  that  had  been  full  of  suf- 
ferings ;  a  life  heavy-laden,  half-vanquished,  still  swim- 
ming painfully  in  seas  of  manifold  physical  and  other 
bewilderment.  Brow  and  head  were  round,  and  of  mas- 
sive weight,  but  the  face  was  flabby  and  irresolute  ;  ex- 
pressive of  weakness  under  possibility  of  strength.  He 
hung  loosely  on  his  limbs,  with  knees  bent,  and  stooping 
attitude;  in  walking,  he  rather  shuffled  than  decisively 
stept ;  and  a  lady  once  remarked,  he  never  could  fix 
which  side  of  the  garden  walk  would  suit  him  best,  but 


8  CHARACTERISTICS. 

continually  shifted,  in  corkscrew  fashion,  and  kept  trying 
both.  A  heavy-laden,  half-aspiring,  and  surely  much  suf- 
fering man.  His  voice,  naturally  soft  and  good,  had 
contracted  itself  into  a  plaintive  snuffle  and  singsong ;  he 
spoke  as  if  preaching,  —  you  would  have  said,  preaching 
earnestly  and  also  hopelessly  the  weightiest  .things.  I 
still  recollect  his  "  object "  and  "  subject,"  terms  of  con- 
tinual recurrence  in  the  Kantean  province ;  and  how  he 
sung  and  snuffled  them  into  "  om-m-mject,"  and  "  sum- 
m-mject,"  with  a  kind  of  a  solemn  shake  or  quaver,  as  he 
rolled  along.  No  talk  in  his  century,  or  in  any  other, 
could  be  more  surprising.  ..."  Our  interview  [said 
Sterling  in  his  record  of  his  first  interview  with  Coleridge] 
lasted  for  three  hours,  during  which  he  talked  two  hours 
and  three  quarters."  Nothing  could  be  more  copious 
than  his  talk ;  and  furthermore,  it  was  always  virtually 
or  literally,  of  the  nature  of  a  monologue  ;  suffering  no 
interruption,  however  reverent ;  hastily  putting  aside  all 
foreign  additions,  annotations,  or  most  ingenuous  desires 
for  elucidation,  as  well-meant  superfluities  which  would 
never  do.  Besides,  it  was  talk  not  flowing  anywhither 
like  a  river,  but  spreading  everywhither  in  inextricable 
currents  and  regurgitations  like  a  lake  or  sea ;  terribly 
deficient  in  definite  goal  and  aim,  nay  often  in  logical 
intelligibility ;  what  you  were  to  believe  or  do,  or  any 
earthly  or  heavenly  thing,  obstinately  refusing  to  appear 
from  it.  So  that,  most  tinies,  you  felt  logically  lost; 
swamped  near  to  drowning  in  this  tide  of  ingenious  voca- 
bles, spreading  out  boundless  as  if  to  submerge  the 
world.  ...  I  have  heard  Coleridge  talk,  with  eager 
musical  energ}^,  two  stricken  hours,  his  face  radiant  and 
moist,  and  communicate  no  meaning  whatsoever  to  any 
individual  of  his  hearers,  —  certain  of  whom,  I  for  one, 
still  kept  eagerly  listening  in  hope  ;  the  most  had  long 
before  given  up,  and  formed  (if  the  room  were  large 
enough)  secondary  humming  groups  of  their  own.      He 


THE  CONVERSATION  OF  COLERIDGE.  9 

began  any  where  :  you  put  some  question  to  him,  made 
some  suggestive  observation  ;  instead  of  answering  this, 
or  decidedly  setting  out  towards  answering  it,  he  would 
accumulate  formidable  apparatus,  logical  swim-bladders, 
transcendental  life-preservers,  and  other  precautionary 
and  vehiculatory  gear,  for  setting  out ;  perhaps  did  at  last 
get  under  way^  —  but  was  swiftly  solicited,  turned  aside 
by  the  glance  of  some  radiant  new  game  on  this  hand  or 
that,  into  new  courses ;  and  ever  into  new ;  and  before 
long  into  all  the  universe,  where  it  was  uncertain  what 
game  you  would  catch,  or  whether  any.  His  talk,  alas, 
was  distinguished,  like  himself,  by  irresolution  :  it  dis- 
liked to  be  troubled  with  conditions,  abstinences,  definite 
fulfillments ;  —  loved  to  wander  at  its  own  sweet  will,  and 
make  its  auditor  and  his  claims  and  humble  wishes  a  mere 
passive  bucket  for  itself.  He  had  knowledge  about  many 
things  and  topics,  much  curious  reading;  but  generally 
all  topics  led  him,  after  a  pass  or  two,  into  the  high  seas 
of  theosophic  philosophy,  the  hazy  infinitude  of  Kantean 
transcendentalism,  with  its  "  sum-m-mjects  "  and  "  om- 
m-mjects."  Sad  enough  ;  for  with  such  indolent  impa- 
tience of  the  claims  and  ignorances  of  others,  he  had  not 
the  least  talent  for  explaining  this  or  any  thing  unknown 
to  them  ;  and  you  swam  and  fluttered  in  the  mistiest  wide 
unintelligible  deluge  of  things,  for  the  most  part,  in  a 
rather  profitless,  uncomfortable  manner.  Glorious  islets, 
too,  I  have  seen  rise  out  of  the  haze  :  but  they  were  few, 
and  soon  swallowed  in  the  general  element  again.  Balmy, 
sunny  islets,  islets  of  the  blest  and  the  intelligible ;  on 
which  occasion  those  secondary  humming  groups  would 
all  cease  humming,  and  hang  breathless  upon  the  elo- 
quent words  ;  till  once  your  islet  got  wrapped  in  the  mist 
again,  and  they  could  recommence  humming.  Eloquent 
artistically  expressive  words  you  always  had  ;  piercing 
radiances  of  a  most  subtle  insight  came  at  intervals; 
tones  of  noble,  pious  sympathy,  recognizable  as  pious, 


lO  CHARACTERISTICS. 

though  strangely  colored,  were  never  wanting  long  :  but 
in  general  you  could  not  call  this  aimless,  cloud-capt^ 
cloud-based,  lawlessly  meandering  human  discourse  of 
reason  by  the  name  of  "excellent  talk,"  but  only  of  '"sur- 
prising j "  and  were  reminded  bitterly  of  Hazlitt's  account 
of  it :  "  Excellent  talker,  very,  —  if  you  let  him  start  from 
no  premises  and  come  to  no  conclusion."  «  Coleridge  was 
not  without  what  talkers  call  wit,  and  there  were  touches 
of  prickly  sarcasm  in  him,  contemptuous  enough  of  the 
world  and  its  idols  and  popular  dignitaries ;  he  had  traits 
even  of  poetic  humor ;  but  in  general  he  seemed  deficient 
in  laughter ;  or  indeed  in  sympathy  for  concrete  human 
things,  either  on  the  sunny  or  on  the  stormy  side.  One 
right  peal  of  concrete  laughter  at  some  convicted  flesh- 
and-blood  absurdity,  one  burst  of  noble  indignation  at 
some  injustice  or  depravity,  rubbing  elbows  with  us  on 
this  solid  earth,  how  strange  would  it  have  been  in  that 
Kantean  haze-world,  and  how  infinitely  cheering  amid  its 
vacant  air-castles  and  dim-melting  ghosts  and  shadows  ! 
None  such  ever  came.  His  life  had  been  an  abstract 
thinking  and  dreaming,  idealistic,  passed  amid  the  ghosts 
of  defunct  bodies  and  of  unborn  ones.  The  moaninsr 
sing-song  of  that  theosophico-metaphysical  monotony  left 
on  you,  at  last,  a  very  dreary  feeling. 

Lamb.  I  dined  yesterday  in  Parnassus,  with  Words- 
worth, Coleridge,  Rogers,  and  Tom  Moore  —  half  the 
poetry  of  England  constellated  and  clustered  in  Glouces- 
ter Place  !  It  was  a  delightful  evening !  Coleridge  was 
in  his  finest  vein  of  talk  —  had  all  the  talk  ;  and  let  'em 
talk  as  they  will  of  the  envy  of  poets,  I  am  sure  not  one 
there  but  was  content  to  be  nothing  but  a  listener. 
The  Muses  were  dumb  while  Apollo  lectured. 

Leigh  Hunt.  I  heard  him  one  day,  under  the  grove 
at  Highgate,  repeat  one  of  his  melodious  lamentations, 
as  he  walked  up  and  down,  his  voice  undulating  in  a 
stream  of  music,  and  his  regrets  of  youth  sparkling  with 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  II 

visions  ever  young.  ...  On  the  same  occasion  he  built 
up  a  metaphor  out  of  a  flower,  in  a  style  surpassing  the 
famous  passage  in  Milton  ;  deducing  it  from  its  root  in 
religious  mystery,  and  carrying  it  up  into  the  bright,  con- 
summate flower,  "The  bridal  chamber  of  reproductive- 
ness."  Of  all  "  the  Muses'  mysteries,"  he  was  as  great 
a  high  priest  as  Spenser  ;  and  Spenser  himself  might 
have  gone  to  Highgate  to  hear  him  talk,  and  thank  him 
for  his  Ancient  Mariner.  ...  He  recited  his  Kubla 
Khan,  one  morning  to  Byron,  in  his  lordship's  house  in 
Piccadilly,  when  I  happened  to  be  in  another  room.  I 
remembered  the  others  coming  away  from  him,  highly 
struck  with  his  poem,  and  saying  how  wonderfully  he 
talked.  This  was  the  impression  of  every  body  who 
heard  him. 

C.  R.  Leslie.  Of  this  extraordinary  man  it  might  be 
said,  as  truly  as  of  Burke,  that  "  his  stream  of  mind  was 
perpetual."  His  eloquence  threw  a  new  and  beautiful 
light  on  most  subjects,  and  when  he  was  beyond  my  com- 
prehension, the  melody  of  his  voice,  and  the  impressive- 
ness  of  his  manner,  held  me  a  willing  listener,  and  I  was 
flattered  at  being  supposed  capable  of  understanding 
him.  Indeed,  men  far  advanced  beyond  myself  in  edu- 
cation might  have  felt  as  children  in  his  presence. 

Julius  Charles  Hare.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that 
John  Sterling  did  not  preserve  an  account  of  Coleridge's 
conversations  with  him  ;  for  he  was  capable  of  represent- 
ing their  depth,  their  ever  varying  lines,  their  sparkling 
lights,  their  oceanic  ebb  and  flow;  of  which  his  published 
Table-talk  hardly  gives  the  slightest  conception.  Unfor- 
tunately Sterling  merely  took  notes  of  his  first  interview 
with  Coleridge  ;  but  these  are  the  only  record  I  have 
seen  which  enables  one  at  all  to  apprehend  how  his  won- 
derful combination  of  philosophical  and  poetical  powers 
manifested  themselves  in  his  discourse. 

John  Sterling.     Mr.  Coleridge  happened  to  lay  his 


12  CHARACTERISTICS. 

hand  upon  a  little  old  engraving  of  Luther  with  four  Ger- 
man verses  above  it.  He  said,  "  How  much  better  this 
is  than  many  of  the  butcher-like  portraits  of  Luther, 
which  we  commonly  see  !  He  is  of  all  men  the  one  whom 
I  especially  love  and  admire."  Pointing  to  the  first 
words  of  the  German  verses,  he  explained  them,  "  Luther, 
the  dear  hero."  "  It  is  singular,"  he  said,  "  how  all  men 
have  agreed  in  assigning  to  Luther  the  heroic  character ; 
and  indeed  it  is  certainly  most  just.  Luther,  however 
wrong  in  some  of  his  opinions,  was  always  right  in  de- 
sign and  spirit.  In  translating  his  ideas  into  conceptions, 
he  always  understood  something  higher  and  more  univer- 
sal than  he  had  the  means  of  expressing.  He  did  not 
bestow  too  much  attention  on  one  part  of  man's  nature 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  others  ;  but  gave  its  due  place  to 
each,  —  the  intellectual,  the  practical,  and  so  forth.  He 
is  great,  even  where  he  is  wrong."  Some  one  mentioned 
Calvin.  He  said,  "  Calvin  was  undoubtedly  a  man  of 
talent ;  I  have  a  great  respect  for  him  ;  he  had  a  very 
logical  intellect;  but  he  wanted  Luther's  powers."  He 
then  began  to  speak  of  landscape  gardening,  in  conse- 
quence of  some  remark  about  the  beautiful  view  behind 
the  house  in  which  he  resided.  "  We  have  gone  too  far 
in  destroying  the  old  style  of  gardens  and  parks.  There 
was  a  great  deal  of  comfort  in  the  thick  hedges,  which 
always  gave  you  a  sheltered  walk  during  winter.  There 
is  certainly  a  propriety  in  the  gradual  passing  away  of 
the  works  of  man  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  home.  The 
great  thing  is  to  discover  whether  the  scenery  is  such  that 
the  country  seems  to  belong  to  man,  or  man  to  the  coun- 
try. Now  among  the  lakes  of  Westmoreland  man  evi- 
dently belongs  to  the  country:  the  very  cottages  seem 
merely  to  rise  out  of,  and  to  be  growths  of,  the  rock.  But 
the  case  is  different  in  a  countr}^  where  every  thing  speaks 
of  man,  houses,  corn-fields,  cattle.  There  your  improve- 
ments ought  to  be  in  conformity  with  the  character  of  the 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF   COLERIDGE.  1 3 

place.  Man  is  so  in  love  with  intelligence,  that  where  he 
is  not  intelligent  enough  to  discover  it,  he  will  impress  it. 
Some  of  the  finest  views  about  here  (Highgate)  are  only 
to  be  seen  from  among  the  most  wretched  habitations. 
Luther  said  truly :  '  How  different  is  a  rich  country  from  a 
happy  country !  A  rich  country  is  always  an  unhappy, 
miserable,  degraded  country.' "  —  He  then  went  into  a 
long  exposition  of  the  evils  of  commerce  and  manufac- 
tures ;  the  argument  of  which,  I  think,  is  to  be  found  in 
one  of  the  Lay  Sermons.  In  the  course  of  it  he  took 
occasion  to  say  that  the  Legislature  is  defective.  "I 
don't  mean  any  thing  about  the  nonsense  of  universal 
suffrage ;  but  the  land  proprietors  have  too  great  a  pro- 
portion of  power.  Land  is  something  fixed  and  tangible  ; 
if  one  man  have  more  of  it,  another  must  have  less.  But 
this  other  kind  of  wealth,  which  is  founded  in  the  Na- 
tional Debt,  and  so  forth,  —  one  man's  having  a  million 
of  it  does  not  prevent  another  man's  getting  two  millions 
of  it ;  nay,  it  rather  makes  it  more  probable  that  he  will 
do  so.  Thirty  or  forty  years  ago  it  would  have  been  a 
disgrace  to  a  merchant  to  be  seen  in  the  Stock  Exchange. 
Now  it  is  thought  nothing  of.  There  are  only  two  rem- 
edies for  the  evil  of  our  excessive  increasing  population. 
We  have  not  virtue  enough  for  the  one,  which  is  a  plan 
of  general  and  continued  emigrations,  in  which  the  peo- 
ple would  be  perpetually  going  forth,  headed  by  the  priest 
and  the  noble.  In  every  parish  a  certain  portion  of  every 
family  ought  to  live  under  the  knowledge  that  at  a  certain 
age  they  were  to  emigrate.  The  other  remedy  is  a  per- 
fectly free  trade  in  corn ;  but  this  would  only  do  for  a 
time.  More  rich  men  are  springing  up  in  the  country 
than  the  country  can  support :  the  Regent's  Park  is 
covered  as  it  were  with  an  enchanted  city."  —  "  The  di- 
vision of  labor  has  proceeded  so  far,  even  in  literature, 
that  people  do  not  think  for  themselves ;  their  review 
thinks  for  them." — He  said  to  a  person   in  the  com- 


/// 


14  CHARACTERISTICS. 

\^       pany :    "  Your  friend  Mr. was  here  some  time  ago. 

He  is  evidently  a  man  of  great  talent.  We  had  a  long 
dispute  together  about  laughter.  Mr. was  main- 
taining that  notion  of  Hobbes',  that  laughter  arises  from 
contempt.  My  theory  was,  that  it  always  springs  from 
the  sudden  experience  of  a  pleasure,  for  which  the  nerves 
are  not  sufficiently  prepared,  and  that  laughter  is  the  lit- 
tle convulsion  by  which  nature  gets  rid  of  the  struggle."  — 
The  population  of  Highgate,  and  the  number  of  churches 
and  chapels  in  ii,  happened  to  be  mentioned,  when  Cole- 
ridge said :  'fThere  never  was  such  a  mistake  as  the 
government  has  committed  in  letting  the  population  out- 
strip the  churches  to  such  an  extent.  They  forgot  that 
religion,  even  in  its  exterior  forms,  is  the  centre  of  grav- 
ity-^  Christendom  is  so  obviously  superior  to  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  in  every  thing,  —  science,  civilization,  power, 
—  that  it  is  impossible  to  doubt  of  the  mere  external 
advantages  of  religion."  But  it  was  said  how  much  of 
Christianity  is  there  in  France!  "Why,"  replied  Cole- 
ridge, "  there  are  a  great  many  queer  Christians  even  here ; 
but  still  religion  exists  as  a  power  in  the  country.  Lon- 
don has  a  great  weight  after  all  among  mankind.  People 
perhaps  are  not  themselves  religious  ;  but  they  give  their 
half-guineas,  and  they  are  civil.  Christianity  brings  im- 
mense advantages  to  a  savage.  It  is  an  evident  prefer- 
ment for  him.  The  missionaries  have  done  a  great  deal 
for  us  in  clearing  up  our  notions  about  savage  nations. 
What  an  immense  deal  of  harm  Captain  Cook's  Voyages 
did  in  that  way  !  Sailors,  after  being  a  long  time  at  sea, 
found  a  fertile  island,  and  a  people  of  lax  morals,  which 
were  just  the  things  they  wanted  ;  and  of  course  there 
never  were  such  dear,  good,  kind,  amiable  people.  We 
know  now  that  they  were  more  detestably  licentious  than 
we  could  have  imagined.  And  then  the  romance  of  the 
Pelew  Islanders  !  There  scarcely  ever  existed  such  a 
set  of  blood-thirsty  barbarians.     Savages  have  a  notion 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  1 5 

of  higher  powers  than  their  own  all  around  them ;  but 
that  is  a  part  of  superstition,  not  religion.  The  person- 
ality of  the  Deity  is  the  great  thing.  The  ancients  were 
Spinozists  :  they  could  not  help  seeing  an  energy  in  na- 
ture. This  was  the  anima  mundi  sine  centro  of  the  phi- 
losophers. The  people,  of  course,  changed  it  into  all  the 
forms  that  their  imagination  could  supply.  The  religion 
of  the  philosophers  was  Pantheism,  that  of  the  people 
Polytheism.  They  knew  nothing  of  a  creative  power: 
at  first  there  was  Chaos  and  Night ;  and  what  produced 
the  universe  they  could  not  tell.  The  gods  were  merely 
the  first  birth  of  Chaos.  This  is  very  evident  also  in  the 
notion  of  the  Stoics,  that  after  ten  thousand  years  the 
gods  required  to  be  formed  again.  Even  Plato,  who 
alone  of  them  all  had  any  idea  of  God,  says  that  it  is  very 
hard  to  discover,  and  impossible  to  communicate  it.  And 
I  have  no  doubt  that  the  first  great  apostasy,  the  building 
of  the  Tower  of  Babel,  consisted  in  erecting  a  temple  to 
the  heavens,  to  the  universe.  The  first  sovereigns  of  all 
countries  were  priests,  and  after  them  warriors.  This  is 
clear  from  the  Northern  traditions  of  Odin,  the  Sagas, 
and  so  forth.  When  the  families  of  the  priests  inter- 
married with  the  children  of  the  more  ignorant  people, 
their  offspring  applied  their  superior  intelligence  and 
knowledge  to  the  purposes  of  conquest ;  hence  the  great 
conquests  recorded  of  old.  We  never  hear  of  such  con- 
quests by  savage  nations  when  they  are  not  directed  by 
the  wisdom  of  a  priesthood."  —  Mr.  Coleridge  is  not  tall, 
and  rather  stout :  his  features,  though  not  regular,  are  by 
no  means  disagreeable ;  the  hair  quite  gray ;  the  eye  and 
forehead  very  fine.  His  appearance  is  rather  old-fash- 
ioned ;  and  he  looks  as  if  he  belonged  not  so  much  to 
this,  or  to  any  age,  as  to  history.  His  manner  and  ad- 
dress struck  me  as  being  rather  formally  courteous.  He 
always  speaks  in  the  tone  and  in  the  gesture  of  common 
conversation,  and  laughs  a  good  deal,  but  gently.     His 


l6  CHARACTERISTICS. 

emphasis,  though  not  declamatory,  is  placed  with  remark- 
able propriety.  He  speaks  perhaps  rather  slowly,  but 
never  stops,  and  seldom  ever  hesitates.  There  is  the 
strongest  appearance  of  conviction,  without  any  violence 
in  his  manner.  His  language  is  sometimes  harsh,  some- 
times careless,  often  quaint,  almost  always,  I  think,  drawn 
from  the  fresh  delicious  fountains  of  our  elder  eloquence. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  the  diction  of  much  that  I  have  re- 
ported is  different  from  Coleridge's,  and  always,  of  course, 
vastly  inferior.  I  have  treasured  up  as  many  of  his 
phrases  as  I  could ;  they  will  easily  be  recognized.  On 
one  occasion  he  quoted  a  line  of  his  own  poetry,  saying, 
"  If  I  may  quote  a  verse  of  mine  written  when  I  was  a 
very  young  man.  It  was  something  to  this  effect :  *  They 
kill  too  slow  for  men  to  call  it  murder.'  "  He  happened 
to  mention  several  books  in  the  course  of  his  remarks ; 
and  he  always  seemed  inclined  to  mention  them  good- 
naturedly.  —  I  was  in  his  company  about  three  hours ; 
and  of  that  time  he  spoke  during  two  and  three  quarters. 
It  would  have  been  delightful  to  listen  as  attentively,  and 
certainly  easy  for  him  to  speak  just  as  well  for  the  next 
forty-eight  hours.  On  the  whole  his  conversation,  or 
rather  monologue,  is  by  far  the  most  interesting  I  ever 
heard  or  heard  of.  Dr.  Johnson's  talk,  with  which  it  is 
obvious  to  compare  it,  seems  to  me  immeasurably  infe- 
rior. It  is  better  balanced  and  scrubbed,  and  more  pon- 
derous with  epithets  ;  but  the  spirit  and  flavor  and  fra- 
grance, the  knowledge  and  the  genius  are  all  wanting. 
The  one  is  a  house  of  brick,  the  other  a  quarry  of  jasper. 
It  is  painful  to  observe  in  Coleridge  that,  with  all  the 
kindness  and  glorious  far-seeing  intelligence  of  his  eye, 
there  is  a  glare  in  it,  a  light  half  unearthly,  half  morbid. 
It  is  the  glittering  eye  of  the  Ancient  Mariner.  His 
cheek  too  shows  a  flush  of  over-excitement,  the  red  of  a 
storm-cloud  at  sunset.  When  he  dies,  another,  and  one 
of  the  greatest  of  their  race,  will  rejoin  the  few  Immor- 


THE   CONVERSATION   OF   COLERIDGE.  1/ 

tals,  the  ill-understood  and  ill-requited,  who  have  walked 
this  earth. 

Professor  Wilson.  If  there  be  any  man  of  great  and 
original  genius  alive  at  this  moment,  in  Europe,  it  is 
S.  T.  Coleridge.  Nothing  can  surpass  the  melodious 
richness  of  words,  which  he  heaps  around  his  images  ; 
images  that  are  not  glaring  in  themselves,  but  which  are 
always  affecting  to  the  verge  of  tears,  because  they  have 
all  been  formed  and  nourished  in  the  recesses  of  one  of 
the  most  deeply  musing  spirits  that  ever  breathed  forth 
its  inspiration,  in  the  majestic  language  of  England.  .  .  . 
Let  the  dullest  clod  that  ever  vegetated,  provided  only  he 
be  alive  and  hear,  be  shut  up  in  a  room  with  Coleridge, 
or  in  a  wood,  and  be  subjected  for  a  few  minutes  to  the 
ethereal  influence  of  that  wonderful  man's  monologue, 
and  he  will  begin  to  believe  himself  a  Poet.  The  barren 
wilderness  may  not  blossom  like  the  rose,  but  it  will 
seem,  or  rather  feel  to  do  so,  under  the  lustre  of  an  im- 
agination exhaustless  as  the  sun.  ...  It  is  easy  to  talk 
—  not  very  difficult  to  speechify  —  hard  to  speak  ;  but  to 
"  discourse  "  is  a  gift  rarely  bestowed  by  Heaven  on  mor- 
tal man.  Coleridge  has  it  in  perfection.  While  he  is 
discoursing  the  world  loses  all  its  commonplaces,  and  you 
and  your  wife  imagine  yourself  Adam  and  Eve  listening 
to  the  affable  Archangel  Raphael  in  the  Garden  of  Eden. 
You  would  no  more  dream  of  wishing  him  to  be  mute  for 
a  while,  than  you  would  a  river  that  "  imposes  silence 
with  a  stilly  sound."  Whether  you  understood  two  con- 
secutive sentences,  we  shall  not  stop  too  curiously  to  in- 
quire ;  but  you  do  something  better,  you  feel  the  whole 
just  like  any  other  divine  music.  And  't  is  your  own  fault 
if  you  do  not 

"  A  wiser  and  a  better  man  arise  to-morrow's  morn." 

.  .  .  Nor  are  we  now  using  any  exaggeration  ;  for  if  you 
will  but  think  how  unutterably  dull  are  all  the  ordinary 


1 8  CKARACTERISTICS. 

sayings  and  doings  of  this  life,  spent  as  it  is  with  ordinary 
people,  you  may  imagine  how  in  sweet  delirium  you  may 
be  robbed  of  yourself  by  a  seraphic  tongue  that  has  fed 
-since  first  it  lisped  on  "  honey-dew,"  and  by  lips  that 
have  "  breathed  the  air  of  Paradise,"  and  learned  a  se- 
raphic language,  which,  all  the  while  that  it  is  English,  it 
is  as  grand  as  Greek  and  as  soft  as  Italian.  We  only 
know  this,  that  Coleridge  is  the  alchemist  that  in  his  cru- 
cible melts  down  hours  to  moments  —  and  lo  !  diamonds 
sprinkled  on  a  plate  of  gold. 

Dr.  Dibdin.  I  shall  never  forget  the  effect  his  con- 
versation made  upon  me  at  the  first  meeting,  at  a  dinner- 
party. It  struck  me  as  something  not  only  quite  out  of 
the  ordinary  course  of  things,  but  an  intellectual  exhibi- 
tion altogether  matchless.  The  viands  were  unusually 
costly,  and  the  banquet  was  at  once  rich  and  varied  ;  but 
there  seemed  to  be  no  dish  like  Coleridge's  conversation 
to  feed  upon  —  and  no  information  so  instructive,  as  his 
own.  The  orator  rolled  himself  up  as  it  were  in  his  chair, 
and  gave  the  most  unrestrained  indulgence  to  his  speech ; 
and  how  fraught  with  acuteness  and  originality  was  that 
speech,  and  in  what  copious  and  eloquent  periods  did  it 
flow !  The  audience  seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  wonder  and 
delight,  as  one  conversation,  more  profound,  or  clothed 
in  more  forcible  language  than  another,  fell  from  his 
tongue.  He  spoke  nearly  for  two  hours  with  unhesitating 
and  uninterrupted  fluency. 

Talfourd.  Instead,  like  Wordsworth,  of  seeking  the 
sources  of  sublimity  and  beauty  in  the  simplest  elements 
of  humanity,  he  ranges  through  all  history  and  science, 
investigating  all  that  has  really  existed,  and  all  that  has 
had  foundation  only  in  the  wildest  and  strangest  minds, 
combining,  condensing,  developing,  and  multiplying  the 
rich  products  of  his  research  with  marvelous  facility  and 
skill ;  now  pondering  fondly  over  some  piece  of  exquisite 
loveliness,  brought  from  an  unknown  recess,  now  tracing 


THE  CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  19 

out  the  hidden  germ  of  the  eldest  and  most  barbaric  the- 
ories, and  now  calling  fantastic  spirits  from  the  vasty- 
deep,  where  they  have  slept  since  the  dawn  of  reason. 
The  term  "  myriad-minded,"  which  he  has  happily  ap- 
plied to  Shakespeare,  is  truly  descriptive  of  himself.  .  .  . 
There  is  nothing  more  wonderful  than  the  facile  majesty 
of  his  images,  or  rather  of  his  world  of  imagery,  which, 
whether  in  his  poetry  or  his  prose,  start  up  before  us  self- 
raised,  and  all  perfect,  like  the  palace  of  Aladdin.  He 
ascends  to  the  sublimest  truths  by  a  winding  track  of 
sparkling  glory,  which  can  only  be  described  in  his  own 

language : 

"  The  spirit's  ladder 
That  from  the  gross  and  visible  world  of  dust, 
Even  to  the  starry  world,  with  thousand  rounds 
Builds  itself  up  ;  on  which  the  unseen  powers^ 
Move  up  and  down  on  heavenly  ministries  — 
The  circles  in  the  circles,  that  approach 
The  central  sun  from  every  narrowing  orbit." 

.  .  .  The  riches  of  his  mind  were  developed,  not  in  writ- 
ing, but  in  his  speech  —  conversation  I  can  scarcely  call 
it —  which  no  one  who  once  heard  can  ever  forget.  Un- 
able to  work  in  solitude,  he  sought  the  gentle  stimulus  of 
social  admiration,  and  under  its  influence  poured  forth, 
without  stint,  the  marvelous  resources  of  a  mind  rich  in 
the  spoils  of  time  —  richer  —  richer  far  in  its  own  glorious 
imagination  and  delicate  fancy  !  There  was  a  noble  prod- 
igality in  these  outpourings ;  a  generous  disdain  of  self ; 
an  earnest  desire  to  scatter  abroad  the  seeds  of  wisdom 
and  beauty,  to  take  root  wherever  they  might  fall,  and 
spring  up  without  bearing  his  name  or  impress,  which 
might  remind  the  listener  of  the  first  days  of  poetry  be- 
fore it  became  individualized  by  the  press,  when  the  Ho- 
meric rhapsodist  wandered  through  new-born  cities  and 
scattered  hovels,  flashing  upon  the  minds  of  the  wonder- 
ing audience  the  bright  train  of  heroic  shapes,  the  series 
of  godlike  exploits,  and  sought  no  record  more  enduring 


20  CHARACTERISTICS. 

than  the  fleshly  tablets  of  his  hearers'  hearts ;  no  mem- 
ory but  that  of  genial  tradition ;  when  copyright  did  not 
ascertain  the  reciter's  property,  nor  marble  at  once  per- 
petuate and  shed  chilliness  on  his  fame ; 

"  His  bounty  was  as  boundless  as  the  sea, 
His  love  as  deep." 

Like  the  ocean,  in  all  its  variety  of  gentle  moods,  his 
discourse  perpetually  ebbed  and  flowed  —  nothing  in  it 
angular,  nothing  of  set  purpose,  but  now  trembling  as  the 
voice  of  divine  philosophy,  "  not  harsh  nor  crabbed,  as 
dull  fools  suppose,  but  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute,"  was 
wafted  over  the  summer  wave  ;  now  glistening,  in  long 
line  of  light  over  some  obscure  subject,  like  the  path  of 
moonlight  on  the  black  water ;  and,  if  ever  receding  from 
the  shore,  driven  by  some  sudden  gust  of  inspiration, 
disclosing  the  treasures  of  the  deep,  like  the  rich  strond 
in  Spenser,  "  far-sunken  in  their  sunless  treasuries,"  to 
be  covered  anon  by  the  foam  of  the  same  immortal  tide. 
The  benignity  of  his  manner  befitted  the  beauty  of  his 
disquisitions  j  his  voice  rose  from  the  gentlest  pitch  of 
conversation  to  the  height  of  impassioned  eloquence 
without  effort,  as  his  language  expanded  from  some  com- 
mon topic  of  the  day  to  the  loftiest  abstractions  ;  as- 
cending to  the  highest  truths  which  the  naked  eye  could 
discern,  and  suggesting  starry  regions  beyond  which  his 
own  telescopic  gaze  might  possibly  decipher.  If  his  en- 
tranced hearers  often  were  unable  to  perceive  the  bear- 
ings of  his  argument  —  too  mighty  for  any  grasp  but  his 
own,  and  sometimes  reaching  beyond  his  own  —  they  un- 
derstood "a  beauty  in  the  words,  if  not  the  words  ;"  and 
a  wisdom  and  piety  in  the  illustrations,  even  when  unable 
to  connect  them  with  the  idea  which  he  desired  to  illus- 
trate. If  an  entire  scheme  of  moral  philosophy  was 
never  developed  by  him  either  in  speaking  or  writing,  all 
the  parts  were  great :  vast  biblical  knowledge,  though 


THE   CONVERSATION   OF  COLERIDGE.  21 

sometimes  eddying  in  splendid  conjecture,  was  always 
employed  with  pious  reverence ;  the  morality  suggested 
was  at  once  elevated  and  genial ;  the  charity  hoped  all 
things ;  and  the  mighty  imaginative  reasoner  seemed 
almost  to  realize  the  condition  suggested  by  the  great 
Apostle,  "  that  he  understood  all  mysteries  and  all 
knowledge,  and  spake  with  the  tongues  both  of  men  and 
angels." 

Sir  Humphry  Davy.  During  his  stay  in  London  I 
saw  him  seldomer  than  usual ;  when  I  did  see  him,  it  was 
generally  in  the  midst  of  large  companies,  where  he  is 
the  image  of  power  and  activity.  His  eloquence  is  un- 
impaired j  perhaps  it  is  softer  and  stronger.  His  will  is 
less  than  ever  commensurate  with  his  ability.  Brilliant 
images  of  greatness  float  upon  his  mind,  like  images  of 
the  morning  clouds  on  the  waters.  Their  forms  are 
changed  by  the  motion  of  the  waves,  they  are  agitated  by 
every  breeze,  and  modified  by  every  sunbeam. 

John  Foster.  Prince  of  magicians,  Coleridge  ;  whose 
mind,  too,  is  clearly  more  original  and  illimitable  than 
Hall's.  Coleridge  is  indeed  sometimes  less  perspicuous 
and  impressive  by  the  distance  at  which  his  mental  op- 
erations are  carried  on.  Hall  works  his  enginery  close 
by  you,  so  as  to  endanger  your  being  caught  and  torn  by 
some  of  the  wheels  ;  just  as  one  has  felt  sometimes  when 
environed  by  the  noise  and  gigantic  movements  of  a  great 
mill.  .  .  .  The  eloquent  Coleridge  sometimes  retires 
into  a  sublime  mysticism  of  thought ;  he  robes  himself 
in  moonlight,  and  moves  among  images  of  which  we  can- 
not be  assured  for  a  while  whether  they  are  substantial 
forms  of  sense  or  fantastic  visions.  .  .  .  [His  are]  the 
most  extraordinary  faculties  I  have  ever  yet  seen  resident 
in  a  form  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Rogers.  Wordsworth  and  myself  had  walked  to  High- 
gate  to  call  on  Coleridge,  when  he  was  living  at  Gillman's. 
We  sat  with  him  two  hours,  he  talking  the  whole  time 


22  CHARACTERISTICS. 

without  intermission.  When  we  left  the  house,  we  walked 
for  some  time  without  speaking.  "  What  a  wonderful 
man  he  is  !  "  exclaimed  Wordsworth.  "  Wonderful,  in- 
deed," said  I.  "  What  depth  of  thought,  what  richness 
of  expression  !  "  continued  Wordsworth.  "  There  's  noth- 
ing like  him  that  ever  I  heard,"  rejoined  I,  —  another 
pause.  "  Pray,"  inquired  Wordsworth,  "  did  you  pre- 
cisely understand  what  he  said  about  the  Kantean  phi- 
losophy } "  "  Not  precisely."  "  Or  about  the  plurality  of 
worlds  ?  "  "I  can't  say  I  did.  In  fact,  if  the  truth  must 
out,  I  did  not  understand  a  syllable  from  one  end  of  his 
monologue  to  the  other."  "  No  more,"  said  Wordsworth, 
"did  I." 


II. 

SARAH   SIDDONS. 

It  will  always  be  interesting  to  read  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 
and  of  the  mighty  influence  she  exerted  over  multitudes 
of  her  contemporaries.  Great  and  small  vied  in  their 
admiration  of  her,  and  could  not  say  enough  in  praise  of 
her  presence,  her  genius,  and  her  achievements.  From 
the  meanest  servant  about  the  theatre  to  the  most  exalted 
personage  in  the  realm,  all  London,  all  England,  seemed 
to  agree,  and  all  enlightened  English-speaking  people 
everywhere  accepted  the  verdict,  that  Sarah  Siddons  was 
incomparably  the  greatest  of  all  actresses  that  had  been 
or  would  be.  Crowds  gathered  wherever  and  whenever 
she  appeared  in  public.  Every  body  wanted  to  see  her, 
on  the  stage  and  off.  The  cream  of  London  society  paid 
obeisance  to  her,  royalty  sought  her,  eminent  artists  were 
ambitious  to  paint  her,  great  poets  to  apostrophize  her, 
and  the  greatest  orators  to  enrich  and  adorn  their  orations 
by  allusions  to  her. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  De  Quincey,  "  I  shall  always  re- 
gard my  recollections  of  Mrs.  Siddons  as  those  in  which 
chiefly  I  have  an  advantage  over  the  coming  generation  ; 
nay,  perhaps  over  all  generations  ;  for  many  centuries 
may  revolve  without  producing  such  another  transcendent 
creature." 

Professor  Wilson,  who  had  personal  knowledge  of  Mrs. 
Siddons,  has  this  famous  thing  to  say  of  her  in  Noctes 
Ambrosianae  :  "  Sarah  was  a  glorious  creature.  Methinks 
I  see  her  now  in  the  sleep-walking  scene.  —  Shepherd. 
As  Leddy  Macbeth  !     Her  gran'  high  straicht-nosed  face, 


24  CHARACTERISTICS. 

whiter  than  ashes !  Fixed  een,  no  like  the  een  o'  the 
dead,  yet  hardly  mair  like  them  o'  the  leevin' ;  dim,  and 
yet  licht  wi'  an  obscure  lustre  through  which  the  tormented 
sowl  like  in  the  chains  o'  sleep  and  dreams,  wi'  a'  the 
distraction  o'  remorse  and  despair,  —  and  oh  !  sic  an  ex- 
panse o'  forehead  for  a  warld  o'  dreadful  thochts,  aneath 
the  braided  blackness  o'  her  hair,  that  had  nevertheless 
been  put  up  wi'  a  steady  and  nae  uncarefu'  haun'  before 
the  troubled  leddy  had  lain  doon,  for  it  behooved  ane  so 
high-born  as  she,  in  the  middle  o'  her  ruefu'  trouble,  no 
to  neglect  what  she  owed  to  her  stately  beauty,  and  to 
the  head  that  lay  on  the  couch  of  ane  o'  Scotland's 
Thanes  —  noo  likewise  about  to  be,  during  the  short 
space  o'  the  passing  o'  a  thunder-cloud,  her  bluidy  and 
usurping  king.  —  North.  Whisht  —  Tickler  —  whisht  — 
no  coughing.  —  Shepherd.     Onwards  she  used  to  come 

—  no  Sarah  Siddons  —  but  just  Leddy  Macbeth  hersel' 

—  though  through  that  melancholy  masquerade  o'  pas- 
sion, the  spectator  aye  had  a  confused  glimmerin'  appre- 
hension o'  the  great  actress  —  glidin'  wi'  the  ghostlike 
motion  o'  nicht- wanderin'  unrest,  unconscious  o'  sur- 
roundin'  objects,  —  for  oh  !  how  could  the  glazed,  yet 
gleamin'  een,  see  aught  in  this  material  world? — yet,  by 
some  mysterious  power  o'  instinct,  never  touchin'  ane  o' 
the  impediments  that  the  furniture  o'  the  auld  castle  might 
hae  imposed  to  her  haunted  footsteps,  —  on  she  came, 
wring,  wringin'  her  hauns,  as  if  washin'  them  in  the 
cleansin'  dews  frae  the  blouts  o'  blood,  — but  wae  's  me 
for  the  murderess,  out  they  wad  no  be,  ony  mair  than  the 
stains  on  the  spat  o'  the  floor  where  some  midnicht-slain 
Christian  has  groaned  out  his  soul  aneath  the  dagger's 
stroke,  when  the  sleepin'  hoose  heard  not  the  shriek  o' 
departing  life.  —  Tickler.  North,  look  at  James'  face. 
Confound  me,  under  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  if  it 
is  not  like  John  Kemble's  ! — Shepherd.  Whether  a' 
this,  sirs,  was  nature's  or  not,  ye  see  I  dinna  ken,  because 


SARAH  SIDDONS.  2$ 

I  never  beheld  ony  woman,  either  gentle  or  semple, 
walkin'  in  her  sleep  after  having  committed  murder.  But, 
Lord  safe  us !  That  hollow,  broken-hearted  voice,  *  out, 
damned  spot,'  was  o'  itsell  aneuch  to  tell  to  a'  that  heard 
it,  that  crimes  done  in  the  flesh  during  time  will  needs 
be  punished  in  the  spirit  during  eternity.  It  was  a 
dreadfu'  homily  you,  sirs  ;  and  wha  that  saw  't  would  ever 
ask  whether  tragedy  or  the  stage  was  moral,  purging  the 
soul,  as  she  did,  wi'  pity  and  wi'  terror." 

Young  was  acting  Beverley  with  her  on  the  Edinburgh 
stage,  when  she  gave  the  exclamation,  "  'T  is  false,  old 
man!  —  they  had  no  quarrel  —  there  was  no  cause  for 
quarrel,"  with  such  piercing  grief  that  he  said  his  throat 
swelled,  and  his  utterance  was  choked.  He  stood  unable 
to  speak  the  few  words  which,  as  Beverley,  he  ought  to 
have  immediately  delivered  ;  the  pause  lasted  long  enough 
to  make  the  prompter  several  times  repeat  Beverley's 
speech,  till  Mrs.  Siddons.  coming  up  to  her  fellow-actor, 
put  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  his  shoulders,  and  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  Mr.  Young,  recollect  yourself." 

Fitzgerald  mentions  even  a  more  remarkable  and  strik- 
ing instance  of  this  influence  which  was  exhibited  during  a 
performance  of  Henry  VHI.,  when  she  addressed  a  raw 
supernumerary,  who  was  playing  the  Surveyor,  warning 
him  against  giving  false  testimony  against  his  master  :  — 

"  If  I  know  you  well, 
You  were  the  Duke's  surveyor,  and  lost  your  office 
On  the  complaints  of  the  tenants.     Take  good  heed 
You  charge  not  in  your  spleen  a  noble  person." 

Her  scorn  was  so  withering,  her  looks  so  menacing,  that 
the  actor  came  off  literally  perspiring  with  terror,  and 
protesting  that  he  would  not  venture  again  to  meet  her 
terrible  look  of  severity.  Such  was  her  power,  amid  all 
the  hackneyed  associations  of  the  side  scenes,  and  it  helps 
us  to  form  an  idea  of  what  it  was  over  an  unsophisticated 
audience. 


26  CHARACTERISTICS. 

It  was  this  wonderful  woman's  art,  says  Fitzgerald,  in 
his  Life  of  the  Kembles,  to  stamp  some  remarkable  image 
of  herself  on  the  recollection,  in  great  plays,  like  Corio- 
lanus ;  and  that  fine  actor  Young,  looked  back  with  ad- 
miration and  wonder  to  the  figure  of  her  Volumnia,  as  it 
lingered  in  his  memory.  "  I  remember  her,"  he  writes  to 
Mr.  Campbell,  more  than  forty  years  after  the  perform- 
ance, "  coming  down  the  stage,  in  1789,  in  the  triumphal 
entry  of  her  son,  Coriolanus,  when  her  dumb-show  drew 
plaudits  that  shook  the  building.  She  came  alone,  march- 
ing and  beating  time  to  the  music  ;  rolling  (if  that  be  not 
too  strong  a  term  to  describe  her  motion)  from  side  to 
side,  swelling  with  the  triumph  of  her  son.  Such  was 
the  intoxication  of  joy  which  flashed  from  her  eye,  "and 
lit  up  her  whole  face,  that  the  effect  was  irresistible.  She 
seemed  to  me  to  reap  all  the  glory  of  that  procession  to 
herself.  I  could  not  take  my  eye  from  her.  Coriolanus, 
banner,  and  pageant,  all  went  for  nothing  to  me,  after  she 
had  walked  to  her  place." 

When  far  advanced  in  life,  Mrs.  Siddons  appeared  as 
Arpasia  in  Tamerlane  —  her  brother,  John  Kemble, 
taking  the  part  of  Bajazet.  It  is  stated  that  in  the  last 
act,  when  by  order  of  the  tyrant,  her  lover  Moneses  is 
strangled  before  her  face,  she  worked  herself  up  to  such 
a  pitch  of  agony,  and  gave  such  terrible  reality  to  the 
few  convulsive  words  she  tried  to  utter,  as  she  sank  a 
lifeless  heap  before  her  murderer,  that  the  audience  for 
a  few  moments  remained  in  a  hush  of  astonishment,  as  if 
awe-struck  ;  they  then  clamored  for  the  curtain  to  be 
dropped,  and  insisting  on  the  manager's  appearance,  re- 
ceived from  him  in  answer  to  their  vehement  inquiries, 
the  assurance  that  Mrs.  Siddons  was  alive,  and  recover- 
ing from  the  temporary  indisposition  that  her  exertions 
had  caused.  They  were  satisfied  as  regarded  her,  but 
would  not  suffer  the  performance  to  be  resumed. 

Macready,  before  he  was  twenty,  appeared  twice  with 


SARAH  SIDDONS.  2/ 

Mrs.  Siddons  —  then  in  her  fifty-fifth  year.  He  says  of 
her  in  his  Reminiscences  :  "  What  eulogy  can  do  justice 
to  her  personations.  .  .  .  How  can  any  force  of  descrip- 
tion imprint  on  the  imagination  the  sudden  but  thrilling 
effect  of  tone  or  look,  of  port  or  gesture,  or  even  of  the 
silence  so  often  significative  in  the  development  of  human 
passion.  ...  She  stood  alone  on  her  height  of  excel- 
lence. Her  acting  was  perfection,  and  as  I  recall  it  I  do 
not  wonder,  novice  as  I  was,  at  my  perturbation  when  on 
the  stage  with  her.  ...  In  no  other  theatrical  artist 
were,  I  believe,  the  charms  of  voice,  the  graces  of  per- 
sonal beauty,  and  the  gifts  of  genius  ever  so  grandly  and 
harmoniously  combined." 

Godwin  delighted  to  talk  of.  her  merits.  He  was  an 
ardent  admirer  of  Garrick,  yet  he  confessed  to  Campbell 
that  he  thought  Mrs.  Siddons  possessed  finer  powers. 

Crabb  Robinson  bore  testimony  to  her  extraordinary 
power,  and  it  is  known  that  he  was  the  young  man  who 
is  described  as  having  burst  into  loud  laughter,  in  the  pit, 
during  the  most  terrible  portion  of  her  performance  of 
the  Fatal  Curiosity.  He  was  being  forcibly  ejected, 
when  it  was  discovered  that  he  was  in  violent  hysterics. 

An  accurate  division  of  her  tragic  characters  has  been 
made  into  four  classes.  First,  it  is  claimed,  should  be 
placed  those  of  Shakespearian  grandeur  and  dignity,  like 
Lady  Macbeth  ;  secondly,  those  in  which  a  classical  dig- 
nity was  combined  with  the  modern  ideas  of  emotion, 
as  in  The  Grecian  Daughter  or  Jane  Shore ;  thirdly,  purely 
melodramatic  characters,  like  Mrs.  Haller ;  and  fourthly, 
characters  of  dignified  Shakespearian  comedy,  like  Her- 
mione.  In  each  of  these  distinct  departments  one  or 
two  characters  could  be  named  in  which  she  was  remark- 
able —  a  singular  and  exceptional  proof  of  genius. 

As  to  her  reading.  Miss  Edgeworth  says  :  "  I  heard 
Mrs.  Siddons  read,  at  her  town  house,  a  portion  of  Henry 
VIII.     I  was  more  struck  and  delighted  than  I  ever  was 


28  CHARACTERISTICS. 

with  any  reading  in  my  life.  Tliis  is  feebly  expressing 
what  I  felt ;  I  felt  that  I  had  never  before  fully  under- 
stood or  sufficiently  admired  Shakespeare,  or  known  the 
full  powers  of  the  human  voice  and  the  English  language. 
Queen  Katharine  was  a  character  peculiarly  suited  to  her 
time  of  life  and  to  reading.  There  was  nothing  that  re- 
quired gesture  or  vehemence  incompatible  with  the  sitting 
attitude.  The  composure  and  dignity,  and  the  sort  of 
suppressed  feeling,  and  touches,  not  bursts  of  tenderness, 
of  matronly,  not  youthful  tenderness,  were  all  favorable 
to  the  general  effect.  I  quite  forgot  to  applaud  —  I 
thought  she  was  what  she  appeared." 

Miss  Wynn,  who  heard  her  read  Macbeth,  said  that  she 
never  knew  what  the  play  was  till  then.  Mrs.  Siddons 
contrived,  in  the  sleep-walking  scene,  to  discharge  all  ex- 
pression from  her  fine  eyes,  leaving  only  a  glassy  stare. 

Washington  Irving,  dliring  his  first  visit  to  London,  in 
1805,  saw  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  thus  speaks  of  her  in  a  let- 
ter to  his  brother  :  "  Were  I  to  indulge  without  reserve  in 
my  praises  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  I  am  afraid  you  would  think 
them  hyperbolical.  What  a  wonderful  woman  !  The  very 
first  time  I  saw  her  perform  I  was  struck  with  admiration. 
It  was  in  the  part  of  Calista.  Her  looks,  her  voice,  her 
gestures,  delighted  me.  She  penetrated  in  a  moment  to 
my  heart.  She  froze  and  melted  it  by  turns ;  a  glance 
of  her  eye,  a  start,  an  exclamation,  thrilled  through  my 
whole  frame.  The  more  I  see  her,  the  more  I  admire 
her.  I  hardly  breathe  while  she  is  on  the  stage.  She 
works  on  my  feelings  till  I  am  like  a  mere  child." 

Northcote  remarked  to  Hazlitt  that  he  had  seen  young 
ladies  of  quality  —  Lady  Marys  and  Lady  Dorothys  — 
peeping  into  a  room  where  Mrs.  Siddons  was  sitting,  with 
all  the  same  timidity  and  curiosity  as  if  it  were  some  pre- 
ternatural being  —  he  was  sure,  more  than  if  it  had  been 
the  Queen.  Hazlitt  said,  that  of  all  the  women  he  had 
ever  seen  or  known  any  thing  of,  Mrs.  Siddons  struck 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  29 

him  as  the  grandest.  She  appeared  to  him  "  to  belong 
to  a  superior  order  of  beings,  to  be  surrounded  with  a 
personal  awe,  like  some  prophetess  of  old,  or  Roman 
matron,  the  mother  of  Coriolanus  and  the  Gracchi.  Her 
voice  answered  to  her  form,  and  her  expression  to  both." 
Northcote  said  if  you  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Siddons  you 
could  have  no  idea  of  her,  nor  could  you  convey  it  to  any 
one  who  had  not.  She  was  indeed,  he  said,  like  a  pre- 
ternatural being  descended  to  the  earth.  Byron  said  of 
her  in  Lady  Macbeth,  that  she  was  "  something  above 
nature." 

"I  remember,"  says  Mrs.  Jameson,  "that  the  first  time 
I  found  myself  in  the  same  room  with  Mrs.  Siddons,  I 
gazed  on  her  as  I  should  have  gazed  at  one  of  the  Egyp- 
tian pyramids  —  nay,  with  a  deeper  awe,  for  what  is  ma- 
terial and  physical  immensity,  compared  with  moral  and 
poetical  grandeur  ?  I  was  struck  with  a  sensation  which 
made  my  heart  pause,  and  rendered  me  dumb  for  some 
minutes;  and  when  I  was  led  into  conversation  with  her, 
my  first  words  came  faltering  and  thick,  —  which  never 
certainly  would  have  been  the  case  in  presence  of  the 
autocratrix  of  all  the  Russias.  The  greatest,  the  noblest 
in  the  land  approached  her  with'  a  deference  not  unmin- 
gled  with  a  shade  of  embarrassment,  while  she  stood  in 
regal  guise  majestic,  with  the  air  of  one  who  bestowed 
and  never  received  honor." 

Tate  Wilkinson,  the  eccentric  old  stage-manager,  would 
say  of  her,  in  his  wandering,  mixed  way,  —  "  To  be  sure, 
Mrs.  Siddons  was  all  in  all.  Her  grandeur  and  dignity 
were  indeed  wonderful !  and  if  you  ask  me  what  is  a 
queen  ?  I  should  say  Mrs.  Siddons  !  as  I  said,  where  is 
there  to  be  found  such  another  Mrs.  Siddons  ?  Her  fine 
figure  and  majestic  mien  in  Elvira  exceeded  any  thing  I 
ever  saw."  In  his  Memoirs  he  says,  "  Mrs.  Siddons,  in 
a  theatrical  lottery,  would  certainly  obtain  fifteen  prizes 
out  of  twenty."     "Certainly,"  he  says,  "where  disdain, 


30  CHARACTERISTICS. 

contempt,  pride,  or  indignation,  are  to  be  expressed,  it 
may  safely  be  affirmed  she  there  stands  unrivaled,  and  is 
herself  alone."  "  I  do  not  mean,"  he  says  again,  "  to  in- 
sinuate Mrs.  Siddons  has  not  foibles  or  faults  —  I  can 
only  say,  if  she  has,  I  am  not  acquainted  with  them." 

Of  "  the  great  queen  of  all  actresses,"  Byron  wrote  in 
one  of  his  Journals :  "  Of  actors,  Cooke  was  the  most 
natural,  Kemble  the  most  supernatural  —  Kean  the  me- 
dium between  the  two.  But  Mrs.  Siddons  was  worth 
them  all  put  together."  She  took  leave  of  the  stage,  he 
said,  "to  the  loss  of  ages,  — for  nothing  ever  was,  or  can 
be,  like  her." 

George  the  Fourth,  after  conversing  with  her,  said,  with 
emphasis,  "  She  is  the  only  real  queen." 

Imagine  her,  if  you  can,  standing  as  a  statue,  peerless 
and  queenly,  in  her  part  of  Hermione,  in  Winter's  Tale  ! 

"  O,  royal  piece, 
There  's  magic  in  thy  majesty.'* 

It  was  while  she  was  playing  this  part,  it  is  related,  that 
Mrs.  Siddons  escaped  death  from  fire,  through  the  mar- 
velous presence  of  mind  of  the  scene-man.  As  she  was 
standing  for  the  statue,  her  drapery  flitted  over  the  lamps 
that  were  placed  behind  the  pedestal,  and  caught  fire. 
The  scene-man  crept  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  extin- 
guished the  flame,  without  discovering  to  her  the  danger 
she  was  in,  a  service  for  which  she  rewarded  him  by  ob- 
taining from  the  king  a  pardon  for  his  son,  a  soldier  who 
had  incurred  the  death  penalty  for  desertion  from  the 
army. 

Joanna  Baillie  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 
and  wrote  expressly  for  her  the  part  of  Jane  de  Mont- 
fort,  in  her  play  of  De  Montfort.  The  poet  Campbell 
pronounces  the  following  passage  an  almost  perfect  pic- 
ture of  the  great  actress : 

"  Page.  —  Madam,  there  is  a  lady  in  your  hall, 

Who  begs  to  be  admitted  to  your  presence. 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  3 1 

Lady.  —  Is  it  not  one  of  our  invited  friends  ? 

Page.  —  No  ;  far  unlike  to  them.     It  is  a  stranger. 

Lady.  —  How  looks  her  countenance  ? 

Page.  —  So  queenly,  so  commanding,  and  so  noble, 

I  shrank  at  first  in  awe  ;  but  when  she  smiled 
Methought  I  could  have  compassed  sea  and  land 
To  do  her  bidding. 

X,ADY.  —  Is  she  young  or  old  ? 

Page.  —  Neither,  if  right  I  guess  ;  but  she  is  fafr, 

For  Time  has  laid  his  hand  so  gently  on  her, 

As  he  too  had  been  awed, 

So  stately  and  so  graceful  is  her  form. 

I  thought  at  first  her  stature  was  gigantic. 

But,  on  a  near  approach,  I  found  in  truth 

She  scarcely  does  surpass  the  middle  size. 

Lady.  —  What  is  her  garb  ? 

Page.  —  I  cannot  well  describe  the  fashion  of  it ; 
She  is  not  decked  in  any  gallant  trim. 
But  seems  to  me  clad  in  the  usual  weeds 
Of  high  habitual  state.  » 

Lady.  — ^  Thine  eyes  deceive  thee,  boy. 

It  is  an  apparition  thou  hast  seen. 

FreBERG.  —  It  is  an  apparition  he  has  seen, 
Or  Jane  de  Montfort." 

Campbell  speaks  of  once  having  gone  through  the 
Louvre  with  Mrs.  Siddons.  "  I  observed,"  he  says,  "  almost 
every  eye  in  the  hall  was  fixed  upon  her  and  followed 
her ;  yet  I  could  perceive  that  she  was  not  known,  as  I 
could  hear  the  spectators  say,  *  Who  is  she  ?  is  she  not  an 
English  woman  ? '  At  this  time,  though  in  her  fifty-ninth 
year,  her  looks  were  so  noble,  that  she  made  you  proud 
of  English  beauty  —  even  in  the  presence  of  Grecian 
sculpture."  This  description  will  not  seem  extravagant 
to  those  who  read  the  letters  of  Dr.  Beattie  or  Washing- 
ton Irving,  recording  the  impressions  made  upon  them  by 
this  wonderful  woman,  when  far  advanced  in  life.  Dr. 
Johnson,  when  asked  whether  he  did  not  think  her  finer 
on  the  stage,  where  she  was  adorned  by  art,  replied,  "  On 
the  stage  art  does  not  adorn  her ;  nature  adorns  her  there, 
and  art  glorifies  her." 


32  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Davies,  a  contemporary  and  an  actor,  as  well  as  a  man 
of  letters,  said  of  her:  "This  actress,  like  a  resistless 
torrent,  has  borne  down  all  before  her.  Her  merit,  which 
is  certainly  very  extensive  in  tragic  characters,  seems  to 
have  swallowed  up  all  remembrance  of  present  and  past 
performers." 

Henderson,  not  long  after  her  first  appearance  on  the 
London  stage,  pronounced  her  "  an  actress  who  never 
had  an  equal,  nor  would  ever  have  a  superior." 

James  Ballantj-ne  gave  her  the  name  of  "  the  ^iddons," 
and  he  was  pronounced  by  Professor  Wilson  "  the  best 
theatrical  creetic  in  Embro'."  She  was  also  called  the 
"  Tragic  Queen,"  and  the  "  Queen  of  Tears." 

De  Quincey,  who  not  only  often  saw  Mrs.  Siddons  upon 
the  stage,  but  met  her  privately  at  the  house  of  Hannah 
More,  has  this  among  other  quotable  things  to  say  of 
her :  "  Amongst  the  many  pleasurable  impressions  which 
Mrs.  Siddons'  presence  never  failed  to  make,  there  was 
one  which  was  positively  painful  and  humiliating  :  it  was 
the  degradation  which  it  inflicted  upon  other  women. 
One  day  there  was  a  large  dinner-party  at  Barley  Wood. 
Mrs.  Siddons  was  present ;  and  I  remarked  to  a  gentle- 
man who  sat  next  to  me  —  a  remark  which  he  heartily 
confirmed  —  that  upon  rising  to  let  the  ladies  leave  us, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  by  the  mere  necessity  of  her  regal  deport- 
ment, dwarfed  the  whole  party,  and  made  them  look  ridic- 
ulous; though  Hannah  More,  and  others  of  the  ladies 
present,  w^ere  otherwise  really  women  of  very  pleasing 
appearance." 

Harlow,  the  painter,  writing  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  said  that 
when,  in  the  character  of  Queen  Katharine,  she  addressed 
Wolsey  in  the  words,  "  Lord  Cardinal,  to  you  I  speak," 
her  statuesque  attitude  was  the  sublimest  thing  in  ancient 
or  modern  sculpture. 

The  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  pronounces  her  "  the 
greatest  actor  that  ever  trod  the  stage.     She  took  posses- 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  33 

sion  of  the  tragic  throne,  on  which,  for  thirty  years  she 
reigned  without  a  rival.  The  public  were  astonished  at 
the  vastness  of  her  powers,  and  tragedy  became  the  fash- 
ion. The  symmetry  of  the  great  actress's  person  was 
most  captivating.  Her  features  were  strongly  marked, 
but  finely  harmonized  ;  the  flexibility  of  her  countenance 
was  extraordinary,  yielding  instantaneously  to  every 
change  of  passion  ;  her  voice  was  plaintive,  yet  capable 
of  firmness  and  exertion  ;  her  articulation  was  clear,  pen- 
etrating, and  distinct;  above  all  she  was  completely  mis- 
tress of  her  powers  ;  and  possessed  that  high  judgment 
which  enabled  her  to  display  all  of  her  other  qualifica- 
tions to  the  greatest  advantage.  One  of  Mrs.  Siddons', 
highest  endowments,  if  not  her  very  highest,  was  the 
power  of  identifying  herself  with  the  character  which  she 
personated.  The  scenes  in  which  she  acted  were  to  her 
far  from  being  a  mere  mimic  show ;  so  powerfully  did 
her  imagination  conjure  up  the  reality,  that  the  tears 
which  she  shed  were  those  of  bitterness  felt  at  the  mo- 
ment. From  her  frown  of  proud  disdain  and  scorn,  the 
very  actors  themselves  shrank  with  something  like  ter- 
ror. Her  greatest  characters  were  Katharine  in  Henry 
Vni.  (the  most  chaste,  beautiful,  and  perfect  performance 
that  ever  drew  a  tear),  and  Lady  Macbeth,  in  which  she 
manifested  a  dignity  and  a  sensibility,  a  power,  and  a  pa- 
thos, never  equaled  by  any  female  performer." 

It  is  related,  that  late  one  night  Mr.  Siddons  was  sit- 
ting by  the  fire  in  the  family  parlor,  dozing  and  smoking, 
when  suddenly  he  was  roused,  with  a  start,,  by  hurried 
footsteps,  that  were  flying  rather  than  running  down  the 
passage.  Who  could  it  be?  he  asked  himself,  all  in  a 
maze  and  a  wonder,  as  he  jumped  up  and  rubbed  his 
sleep-laden  eyes.  He  had  hardly  had  time  to  let  the 
question  go  darting  through  his  brain,  when  the  door  of 
the  room  was  thrown  open  quickly,  as  by  a  hasty,  trem- 
bling hand,  and  a  female  figure  rushed  in.  Mr.  Siddons 
3 


34         *  CHARACTERISTICS. 

gazed  in  speechless  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with  a 
touch  of  fear.  There  before  him  stood  his  wife,  her  fine 
hair  disheveled,  her  dress  all  in  disorder,  her  face  all 
quiveiing  with  strong  emotion.  In  bewildered  alarm  he 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  but  her  only  answer  was 
to  throw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  burst  into  a  torrent 
of  tears  He  soothed  her  tenderly,  not  knowing  what  to 
think,  and  gradually  she  grew  calmer.  Then  her  words 
made  the  mystery  plain  enough.  Instead  of  going  to 
bed,  as  he  had  bade  her  do,  she  had  been  sitting  up  study- 
ing her  part  as  Lady  Macbeth ;  and  the  character  had  so 
completely  absorbed  her  in  itself,  she  had  so  entirely 
realized  the  horror  of  each  situation  in  the  play,  had  seen 
it  all  so  distinctly  before  her  eyes,  as  if  she  had  been 
there  in  the  body,  that  a  wild,  unreasoning  terror  had 
seized  her,  and  she  had  rushed  away  to  seek  human  com- 
panionship. 

The  person  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  it  is  said  by  one  familiar 
with  her  acting,  rather  courted  the  regal  attire,  and  her 
beauty  became  more  vivid  from  the  decorations  of  her 
rank.  The  commanding  height  and  powerful  action  of 
her  figure,  though  always  feminine,  seemed  to  tower  be- 
yond her  sex.  Her  walk  has  never  been  attempted  by 
any  other  actress  ;  and  in  deliberate  dignity  was  as  much 
alone,  as  the  expression  of  her  countenance.  All  ac- 
counts and  pictures  of  her  represent  her  nose  as  being 
very  prominent.  It  is  on  record  that  while  Gainsborough 
was  painting  that  exquisite  portrait  of  her,  which  is  now 
in  the  South  Kensington  Gallery,  after  working  in  ab- 
sorbed silence  for  some  time,  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  D — n  it,  madam,  there  is  no  end  to  your  nose  ! " 

Speaking  of  the  play  of  The  Fair  Penitent,  one  of  Mrs. 
Siddons'  admirers  said  that  it  was  worth  sitting  out  the 
piece  for  the  scene  with  Horatio  alone,  and  to  see  "  such 
a  splendid  animal  in  such  a  magnificent  rage."  Davies 
noticed  that  in  the  third  act  she  became  so  affected  that 
"  her  paleness  was  seen  through  her  rouge." 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  35 

"  When  we  have  such  a  being  as  Mrs.  Siddons  before 
us  in  Lady  Macbeth,"  says  one  who  was  familiar  with  her 
acting,  "what  signifies  the  order  or  disorder  of  the  pic- 
ture of  a  castle  behind  her,  or  whether  the  shadows  be 
upwards  or  downwards  on  the  mouldings  of  the  midnight 
apartment  ?  It  is  to  the  terror  of  her  eye,  it  is  to  the  ve- 
hement and  commanding  sweep  of  her  action  —  it  is  to 
the  perfection  of  her  voice  that  I  am  a  captive,  and  I 
must  pity  the  man  who,  not  being  the  painter  of  the  can- 
vas, is  at  leisure  to  inquire  how  it  is  executed." 

"  The  great  actress  steps  upon  the  scene,  and  how  she 
fills  it  in  a  moment !  Mind  and  majesty  wait  upon  her 
in  the  air ;  her  person  is  lost  in  the  greatness  of  her  per- 
sonal presence  ;  she  dilates  with  thought,  and  a  stupid 
giantess  looks  a  dwarf  beside  her." 

Of  Mrs.  Siddons'  Mrs.  Haller,  one  of  her  admirers 
once  told  Fanny  Kemble  that  her  majestic  and  imposing 
person,  and  the  commanding  character  of  her  beauty, 
militated  against  her  effect  in  the  part.  "  No  man,  alive 
or  dead,"  sa-rd  he,  "  would  have  dared  to  take  a  liberty 
with  her ;  wicked  she  might  be,  but  weak  she  could  not 
be,  and  when  she  told  the  story  of  her  ill-conduct  in  the 
play,  nobody  believed  her." 

The  stupidity  of  the  King  in  not  understanding  her 
better,  is  past  comprehension.  On  one  occasion,  it  is 
stated,  his  majesty  put  into  her  hands  a  sheet  of  paper, 
merely  subscribed  with  his  name,  intended,  it  may  be  pre- 
sumed, to  afford  the  opportunity  to  Mrs.  Siddons  of  pledg- 
ing the  royal  signature  to  any  provision  of  a  pecuniary 
nature,  which  might  be  most  agreeable  to  the  actress  her- 
self. This  paper,  wjth  the  discretion  that  was  suited  to 
the  circumstance  itself,  and  which  was  so  characteristic 
of  Mrs.  Siddons,  she  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the 
Queen;  upon  whom  conduct  so  delicate  and  dignified 
was  not  likely  to  be  lost. 

When  asked  as  to  her  modes  of  study,  discipline  of 


36  CHARACTERISTICS. 

mind,  etc.,  she  replied,  "  When  a  part  is  first  put  before 
me  for  study,  I  look  it  over  in  a  general  way,  to  see  if  it 
is  in  nature,  and  if  it  is,  I  am  sure  it  can  be  played." 

"  I  cannot  but  think  it  a  peculiar  happiness  to  Mrs. 
Siddons,"  says  Boaden,  in  his  Memoirs  of  the  great  ac- 
tress, "  that  she  seems  through  life  so  little  to  have  imi- 
*  tated  what  other  performers  did  in  the  parts  she  acted. 
I  willingly  believe  this  not  to  have  been  sufficiency,  as 
despising  others,  or  disdaining  help ;  but  from  a  settled 
conviction,  that  she  could  only  be  great  by  being  truly 
original ;  and  that  she  ought  to  deliver  her  own  concep- 
tions of  character  with  absolute  indifference  by  what 
other  artists  they  were  either  disputed  or  confirmed." 
Her  own  idea  of  a  part  she  conscientiously  aimed  to 
realize  in  her  acting,  and  nothing  could  divert  her  from 
her  purpose.  The  same  integrity  marked  her  professional 
life  that  controlled  her  personal  conduct.  "  Neither  praise 
nor  money,"  wrote  Dr.  Johnson  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  the  two 
powerful  corrupters  of  mankind,  seem  to  have  depraved 
her." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard,"  asked  Garrick,  in  an  unpub- 
lished letter  to  Moody,  then  at  Liverpool,  "of  a  Mrs. 
Siddons,  who  is  strolling  about  somewhere  near  you?" 
Four  months  later,  Garrick  brought  her  out  at  Drury 
Lane ;  but  she  did  not  succeed.  She  returned  to  Bath, 
where  she  was  successful.  It  was  at  Birmingham,  how- 
ever, in  the  summer  of  1776,  (then  in  her  twenty-first 
year)  that  Henderson  first  saw  the  future  great  actress. 
He  was  immediately  struck  with  her  excellence,  and  de- 
clared that  she  would  never  be  surpassed.  One  night  at 
Bath,  accident  is  said  to  have  conducted  into  the  boxes  of 
the  theatre  some  persons  of  consummate  taste,  and  of  suf- 
ficient consequence  to  make  their  opinions  heard.  A 
mysterious  smile  of  derision,  it  is  stated,  soon  announced 
to  the  votaries  of  fashion,  that  a  great  genius  was  wasting 
unequaled  talents,  without   either  patronage   or  praise, 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  37 

among  people  who  call  themselves  enlightened.  Old  Mr. 
Sheridan  distinguished  himself  early  in  the  list  of  admir- 
ers, and  asserted  that  Mrs.  Siddons  was  more  pathetic 
even  than  Mrs.  Gibber.  The  prophecy  of  Henderson, 
too,  was  remembered,  and  the  tide  of  popularity  soon 
flowed  in  a  stream,  which  was  never  destined  to  ebb.  A 
few  eddies  from  occasional  obstructions,  adds  the  enthu- 
siastic Boaden,  to  carry  on  the  figure,  hardly  merit  to  be 
formally  remembered. 

Her  second  appearance  at  Drury  Lane,  in  Southern's 
tragedy  of  Isabella,  is  thus  referred  to  in  her  autobio- 
graphical Memoranda :  "  On  the  evening  of  the  second 
rehearsal  I  was  seized  with  a  nervous  hoarseness,  vv'hich 
made  me  extremely  wretched  ;  for  I  dreaded  being  obliged 
to  defer  my  appearance,  longing,  as  I  most  earnestly  did, 
at  least  to  know  the  worst.  I  went  to  bed,  therefore,  in  a 
state  of  dreadful  suspense.  Awaking  the  next  morn- 
ing, however,  though  out  of  restless,  unrefreshing  sleep,  I 
found,  upon  speaking  to  my  husband,  that  my  voice  was 
very  much  clearer.  This,  of  course,  was  a  great  comfort 
to  me ;  and,  moreover,  the  sun,  which  had  been  com- 
pletely obscured  for  many  days,  shone  brightly  through 
my  curtains.  I  hailed  it,  though  tearfully,  yet  thankfully, 
as  a  happy  omen ;  and  even  now  I  am  not  ashamed  of 
this  (as  it  may  perhaps  be  called)  childish  superstition. 
On  the  morning  of  the  loth,  my  voice  was,  most  happily, 
perfectly  restored,  and  again  'the  blessed  sun  shone 
brightly  on  me.'  On  this  eventful  day  my  father  arrived 
to  comfort  me,  and  to  be  a  witness  of  my  trial.  He  ac- 
companied me  to  my  dressing-room  at  the  theatre.  There 
he  left  me ;  and  I,  in  one  of  what  I  call  my  desperate 
tranquillities,  which  usually  impress  me  under  terrific  cir- 
cumstances, there  completed  my  dress,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  my  attendants,  without  uttering  one  word,  though 
often  sighing  most  profoundly.  At  length  I  was  called 
to  my  fiery  trial.     I  found  my  venerable  father  behind  the 


38  CHARACTERISTICS. 

scenes,  little  less  agitated  than  myself.  The  awful  con- 
sciousness that  one  is  the  sole  object  of  attention  to  that 
immense  space,  lined  as  it  were  with  human  intellects 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  all  around,  may  perhaps  be  im- 
agined, but  can  never  be  described,  and  by  me  can  never 
be  forgotten.  Of  the  general  effect  of  this  night's  per- 
formance I  need  not  speak  ;  it  has  already  been  publicly 
recorded.  I  reached  my  own  quiet  fireside  on  retiring 
from  the  scene  of  reiterated  shouts  and  plaudits.  I  was 
half  dead  ;  and  my  joy  and  thankfulness  were  of  too 
solemn  and  overpowering  a  nature  to  admit  of  words,  or 
even  tears.  My  father,  my  husband,  and  myself,  sat 
down  to  a  frugal,  neat  supper,  in  a  silence  uninterrupted, 
except  by  exclamations  of  gladness  from  Mr.  Siddons. 
My  father  enjoyed  his  refreshments  ;  but  occasionally 
stopped  short,  and  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork,  lifting 
up  his  venerable  face,  and  throwing  back  his  silver  hair, 
gave  way  to  tears  of  happiness.  We  soon  parted  for  the 
night ;  and  I,  worn  out  with  continually  broken  rest  and 
laborious  exertion,  after  an  hour's  retrospection  (who  can 
conceive  the  intenseness  of  that  reverie  ?)  fell  into  a  sweet 
and  profound  sleep,  which  lasted  to  the  middle  of  the 
next  day." 

At  one  of  her  rehearsals,  previous  to  her  night  of  tri- 
umph at  Drury  Lane,  an  incident  occurred  which,  though 
trifling  enough,  must  have  afforded  her  great  encourage- 
ment. Her  little  boy,  who  was  to  be  her  little  child  in 
'the  piece,  was  so  affected  by  her  acting  that  he  took  the 
whole  for  reality,  and  burst  into  the  most  passionate  flood 
of  tears,  thinking  he  was  about  to  lose  his  mamma.  This 
satisfactory  proof  of  effect,  it  is  said,  deeply  impressed 
the  actors  and  managers,  and  Sheridan  had  the  story  con- 
veyed to  friendly  newspapers. 

Not  long  after,  she  sat  for  her  portrait,  as  Isabella,  to 
the  distinguished  artist  Hamilton.  Her  immense  popu- 
larity, we  are  told,  was  now  shown,  in  the  general  enthu- 


SARAH  SIDDONS.  39 

siasm  to  see  her  picture,  even  when  it  was  scarcely 
finished.  Carriages  thronged  the  artist's  door  ;  and,  if 
every  fine  lady  who  stepped  out  of  them  did  not  actually 
weep  before  the  painting,  they  had  all  of  them,  at  least, 
their  white  handkerchiefs  ready  for  that  demonstration  of 
their  sensibility. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  evidences  of  her  popularity, 
the  critics,  as  usual,  were  slow  to  credit  her  with  lasting 
excellence.  Russell,  the  author  of  the  History  of  Modern 
Europe,  published  a  poem  called  The  Tragic  Muse,  in 
which  he  complimented  Mrs.  Siddons.  He  was  severely 
reproved  by  the  critics  for  "  wasting  his  verse  upon  ex- 
cellence that  was  in  its  nature  fugitive,  the  meteor  of  the 
moment." 

In  the  height  pf  her  popularity  she  was  obliged  to  de- 
cline all  invitations  to  parties,  routs,  etc.,  preferring  to 
give  herself  up  to  study,  and  to  the  duties  of  her  family. 
On  one  occasion,  at  the  house  of  a  Scotch  lady  of  high 
rank,  but  somewhat  eccentric,  she  was  conversing  with 
three  or  four  ladies  of  her  acquaintance,  "when,"  she 
says,  "  incessantly  repeated  thunderings  at  the  door,  and 
the  sudden  influx  of  such  a  throng  of  people  as  I  had 
never  before  seen  collected  in  any  private  house,  coun- 
teracted every  attempt  that  I  could  make  for  escape.  I 
was  therefore  obliged,  in  a  state  of  indescribable  mortifi- 
cation, to  sit  quietly  down,  till  I  know  not  what  hour  in 
the  morning ;  but  for  hours  before  my  departure,  the  room 
I  sat  in  was  so  painfully  crowded,  that  the  people  abso- 
lutely stood  on  the  chairs,  round  the  walls,  that  they 
might  look  over  their  neighbors'  heads  to  stare  at  me  ; 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  benevolent  politeness  of 
Mr.  Erskine,  who  had  been  acquainted  with  my  arrange- 
ment (to  meet  a  few  friends  only),  I  know  not  what  weak- 
ness I  might  have  been  surprised  into." 

No  actress,  we  are  assured,  was  ever  so  gratified  by  the 
warmth  of    personal   friendships,   with   attentions   from 


40  CHARACTERISTICS. 

persons  of  consideration,  as  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  these 
were  not  by  way  of  patronage,  but  from  a  sincere  pleas- 
ure in  her  society,  and  respect  for  her  character.  She 
was  to  be  met  at  Strawberry  Hill,  and  in  such  company 
as  Louis  Philippe,  and  the  Prince  Regent.  The  latter 
often  invited  her  to  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton. 

A  lady  described  to  Mr.  Fitzgerald  a  little  scene  which 
happened  when  she  herself  was  very  young,  and  when 
she  had  been  taken  to  see  "the  great  Mrs.  Siddons." 
The  child  long  after  recalled  the  wonderful  eyes,  and 
particularly  the  long,  silky  eyelashes,  which  she  noticed 
were  of  extraordinarj'  length,  and  curled  upwards  in  a 
beautiful  curve.  The  actress  was  very  good-natured; 
and  on  being  told  that  the  young  girl  was  obliged  to  go 
away  to  the  countr}-,  and  would,  have  no  opportunity  of 
seeing  her,  with  much  good-nature,  she  at  once  kindly 
said  that  the  little  girl  should  not  be  disappointed  —  that 
she  w'ould  act  for  her  there  and  then,  and  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  recite  from  Milton  and  Shakespeare  in  her 
finest  manner. 

Boaden  was  present  at  the  first  appearance  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons as  Jane  Shore.  He  describes  the  effect  of  her  act- 
ing in  that  part  as  truly  overpowering,  especially  at  the 
end  of  the  piece.  I  well  remember,  he  says,  (how  is  it 
possible  I  should  ever  forget  ?)  the  sobs,  the  shrieks, 
among  the  tender  part  of  her  audience ;  or  those  tears, 
which  manhood  at  first  struggled  to  suppress,  but  at 
length  grew  proud  of  indulging.  We  then,  indeed,  knew 
all  the  luxury  of  grief ;  but  the  nerves  of  many  a  gentle 
being  gave  way  before  the  intensity  of  such  appeals  ;  and 
fainting  fits,  long  and  frequent,  alarmed  the  decorum  of 
the  house,  filled  almost  to  suffocation. 

The  mother  of  Lord  Byron,  being  at  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre  one  night,  when  the  character  of  Isabella  was 
performed  by  Mrs.  Siddons,  was  so  affected  by  the  powers 
of  the  great  actress,  that,  toward  the  conclusion  of  the 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  4I 

play,  she  fell  into  violent  fits,  and  was  carried  out  of  the 
theatre,  screaming. 

Her  success  in  Ireland  was  very  great,  and  in  Scotland 
also  ;  but  her  reception  there  was  very  different.  "  I  re- 
member," says  Campbell,  "  Mrs.  Siddons  describing  to 
me  the  scene  of  her  probation  on  the  Edinburgh  boards 
with  no  small  humor.  The  grave  attention  of  my  Scottish 
countrymen,  and  their  canny  reservation  of  praise  till 
they  were  sure  she  deserved  it,  she  said  had  well-nigh 
worn  out  her  patience.  She  had  been  used  to  speak  to 
animated  clay ;  but  she  now  felt  as  if  she  had  been  speak- 
ing to  stones.  Successive  flashes  of  her  elocution,  that 
had  always  been  sure  to  electrify  the  South,  fell  in  vain 
on  those  Northern  flints.  At  last,  as  I  well  remember, 
she  told  me  she  coiled  up  her  powers  to  the  most  em- 
phatic possible  utterance  of  one  passage,  having  previ- 
ously vowed  in  her  heart,  that  if  this  could  not  touch  the 
Scotch,  she  would  never  again  cross  the  Tweed.  When 
it  was  finished,  she  paused,  and  looked  to  the  audience. 
The  deep  silence  was  broken  only  by  a  single  voice  ex- 
claiming, 'That 's  no  bad  ! '  This  ludicrous  parsimony  of 
praise  convulsed  the  Edinburgh  audience  with  laughter. 
But  the  laugh  was  followed  by  such  thunders  of  applause, 
that  amid  her  stunned  and  nervous  agitation  she  was  not 
without  fears  of  the  galleries  coming  down." 

The  good  fortune  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  we  are  told,  was 
seconded  by  her  prudence ;  she  launched  into  no  unnec- 
essary expense  ;  to  be  herself  any  where  implied  sufficient 
consequence.  She  had  genteel  lodgings  in  the  Strand ; 
was  at  the  theatre  in  a  few  minutes  ;  and  full  of  the  best 
inspiration,  a  mother's  feeling  for  her  family,  she  prepared 
herself  for  a  life  of  such  exertion  as  even  mocks  the  toil 
of  mere  manual  art. 

To  give  some  idea  of  her  laborious  life,  it  may  be 
stated  that  during  her  second  season  in  London  she  acted 
Isabella  seven  times ;  Mrs.  Beverley,  seven  also ;  Belvi- 


42  CHARACTERISTICS. 

dera  and  Lady  Randolph,  six  times  each ;  Shakespeare's 
Isabella  and  Thomson's  Sigismunda,  five  times  each  ; 
Euphrasia  and  Constance,  four ;  Jane  Shore  and  the 
Countess  of  Salisbury,  three;  Zara,  in  the  Mourning 
Bride,  two;  Calista,  one.  In  one  season  alone  (1784-5) 
she  appeared  seventy-one  times,  in  as  many  as  seventeen 
different  characters.  Dr.  Franklin  was  one  of  her  ad- 
miring auditors. 

The  expenditure  of  intellect  and  passion  in  her  pow- 
erful parts  was  prodigious.  In  her  personation  of  Con- 
stance, in  King  John,  one  familiar  with  her  acting  said 
that  he  could  point  out  the  passages  where  her  vicissi- 
tudes of  hurried  and  deliberate  gesture  would  have  made 
you  imagine  that  her  very  body  seemed  to  think.  Her 
elocution  varied  its  tones  from  the  height  of  vehemence 
to  the  lowest  despondency,  with  an  eagle-like  power  of 
stooping  and  soaring,  and  with  the  rapidity  of  thought. 
Miss  Kelly  told  Crabb  Robinson  that  when,  as  Constance, 
Mrs.  Siddons  wept  over  her,  her  collar  was  wet  with  the 
great  actress'  tears.  "  The  recollection  of  Mrs.  Siddons 
as  Constance,"  says  Robinson,  *'  is  an  enjoyment  in  itself. 
I  remember  one  scene  in  particular,  where,  throwing  her- 
self on  the  ground,  she  calls  herself  *  The  Queen  of  Sor- 
row,' and  bids  Kings  come  and  worship  her  !  "  He  saw 
her  in  181 1,  then  an  old  woman,  in  her  part  as  Margaret 
of  Anjou  in  the  play  of  The  Earl  of  Warwick.  "  In  the 
last  act,"  he  says,  "her  triumphant  joy  at  the  entrance  of 
Warwick,  whom  she  had  stabbed,  was  incomparable. 
She  laughed  convulsively,  and  staggered  off  the  stage  as 
if  drunk  with  delight ;  and  in  every  limb  showed  the  tu- 
mult of  passion.  As  an  actress  she  has  left  me  the  con- 
viction that  there  never  was  and  never  will  be,  her  equal." 
In  1828  he  notes  reading  Boaden's  Life  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 
which  recalled  "  the  yet  unfaded  image  of  that  most  mar- 
velous woman,  to  think  of  whom  is  now  a  greater  enjoy- 
ment than  to  see  any  other  actress." 


SARAH   SIDDONS.  43 

Her  rich  emotional  nature  was  easily  aroused,  and 
promptly  responded  to  every  phase  of  feeling.  "  During 
Henderson's  readings  from  Sterne,  I  personally  wit- 
nessed," says  Campbell,  "  his  power  over  the  feeUngs  of 
Mrs.  Siddons ;  and  the  pathetic  chapters  of  Shandy  ex- 
cited no  few  tears  from  the  brightest  eyes  that  I  have 
ever  seen.  His  alternations  of  humor  and  tenderness 
kept  her  in  the  situation  of  her  own  CordeUa. 

*  You  have  seen 
Sunshine  and  rain  at  once  ;  her  smiles  and  tears 
"Were  like,  a  better  way.     Those  happy  smiles 
That  play'd  on  her  ripe  lip,  seem'd  not  to  know 
"What  guests  were  in  her  eyes,  which  parted  thence 
As  pearls  from  diamonds  dropp'd.'  " 

On  one  occasion,  after  her  sublime  impersonation  of 
Queen  Katharine,  in  Henry  the  Eighth,  she  indulged  her 
friends  with  a  recitation  of  Collins'  Ode  to  the  Passions. 

She  has  been  charged  with  the  habit  of  attaching  dra- 
matic tones  and  emphasis  to  commonplace  colloquial 
subjects.  She  went,  it  is  said,  one  day,  into  a  shop  at 
Bath,  and  after  bargaining  for  some  calico,  and  hearing 
the  mercer  put  forth  a  hundred  commendations  of  the 
cloth,  she  put  the  question  to  him,  "  But  will  it  wash  ? " 
in  a  manner  so  electrifying  as  to  make  the  poor  shopman 
start  back  from  his  counter. 

Moore  once  told  a  like  story  of  her.  A  large  party 
was  invited  to  meet  her.  She  remained  silent,  as  was  her 
wont,  and  disappointed  the  expectations  of  the  whole 
company,  who  watched  for  every  syllable  that  should 
escape  her  lips.  At  length,  however,  being  asked  if  she 
would  have  some  Burton's  ale,  she  replied,  with  a  sepul- 
chral intonation,  that  she  "  liked  ale  vastly."  This  anec- 
dote being  told  to  Mr.  Maturin,  he  said,  "  The  voice  of 
Mrs.  Siddons,  like  St.  Paul's  bell,  should  never  toll  ex- 
cept for  the  death  of  kings." 

In  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott  it  is  written  that  Mrs.  Sid- 


44  CHARACTERISTICS. 

dons,  at  the  table  of  Sir  Walter,  in  an  eminently  tragic 
voice,  addressed  a  servant :  *'  I  asked  for  water,  boy ; 
you  've  brought  me  beer !  " 

The  biographer  of  Irving  states  that  not  long  after  The 
Sketch  Book  had  been  published  in  London,  and  made 
its  author  remarked  among  its  literary  circles,  he  met 
Mrs.  Siddons  in  some  fashionable  assemblage,  and  was 
brought  up  to  be  introduced.  The  Queen  of  Tragedy 
had  then  long  left  the  stage,  but  her  manner  and  tones  to 
the  last,  partook  of  its  measured  stateliness.  The  inter- 
view was  characteristic.  As  he  approached  and  was  in- 
troduced, she  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then,  in 
her  clear  and  deep-toned  voice,  she  slowly  enunciated, 
"  You  've  made  me  weep."  After  the  appearance  of  his 
Bracebridge  Hall,  he  met  her  in  company  again,  and  was 
asked  by  a  friend  to  be  presented.  He  told  him  he  had 
before  gone  through  that  ceremony,  but  he  had  been  so 
abashed  by  her  address,  and  acquitted  himself  so  shab- 
bily, that  he  was  afraid  to  claim  acquaintance.  Come 
then  with  me,  said  his  friend,  and  I  will  stand  by  you ; 
so  he  went  forward,  and  singularly  enough,  was  met  with 
an  address  of  the  self-same  fashion  :  "  You  Ve  made  me 
weep  again." 

Her  manner,  even  at  the  social  board,  partook  of  the 
state  and  gravity  of  tragedy.  Not  that  there  was  an  un- 
willingness to  unbend,  but  that  there  was  a  difficulty  in 
throwing  aside  the  solemnity  of  long-acquired  habit.  She 
reminded  Irving's  brother  Peter,  who  dined  with  her 
at  the  poet  Campbell's,  of  Walter  Scott's  knights,  who 
"  carved  the  meal  with  their  gloves  of  steel,  and  drank 
the  red  wine  through  their  helmets  barred." 

"  It  was  a  proud  moment  for  Haydon,"  says  Talfourd, 
in  his  Life  and  Letters  of  Lamb,  "  when  at  the  opening 
of  his  Exhibition  of  the  Entry  into  Jerusalem,  while  the 
crowd  of  visitors,  distinguished  in  rank  or  talent,  stood 
doubting  whether  in  the  countenance  of  the  chief  figure 


SARAH  SIDDONS.  45 

the  daring  attempt  to  present  an  aspect  differing  from 
that  which  had  enkindled  the  devotion  of  ages  —  to  min- 
gle the  human  with  the  Divine,  resolution  with  sweetness, 
dignified  composure  with  the  anticipation  of  mighty  suf- 
fering —  had  not  failed,  Mrs.  Siddons  walked  slowly  up 
to  the  centre  of  the  room,  surveyed  it  in  silence  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then  ejaculated  in  her  deep,  low, 
thrilling  voice,  '  It  is  perfect ! '  quelled  all  opposition,  and 
removed  the  doubt  from  his  own  mind,  at  least,  forever." 
What  peculiar  emphasis  she  must  have  put  into  her 
words,  when  the  curtain  fell,  at  the  end  of  a  most  un- 
pleasant engagement  at  Leeds !  She  had  suffered  every 
annoyance  from  the  audience  ;  but  one  of  a  very  ludi- 
crous and  distressing  nature  occurred,  for  which  no  part 
of  the  auditory  was  answerable.  There  is  an  amusing 
account  of  it  in  the  Memoirs  of  Mathews.  The  evening 
was  excessively  hot,  and  Mrs.  Siddons  was  tempted  by  a 
torturing  thirst  to  consent  to  avail  herself  of  the  only  ob- 
tainable relief  proposed  to  her  at  the  moment.  Her 
dresser,  therefore,  despatched  a  boy  in  great  haste  to 
"fetch  a  pint  of  beer  for  Mrs.  Siddons,"  at  the  same 
time  charging  him  to  be  quick,  as  Mrs.  Siddons  was  in  a 
hurry  for  it.  Meanwhile  the  play  proceeded,  and  on 
the  boy's  return  with  the  frothed  pitcher,  he  looked  about 
for  the  person  who  had  sent  him  on  his  errand ;  and  not 
seeing  her,  inquired,  "  Where  is  Mrs.  Siddons } "  The 
scene-shifter  whom  he  questioned,  pointing  his  finger  to 
the  stage  where  she  was  performing  the  sleeping  scene  of 
Lady  Macbeth,  replied,  "There  she  is."  To  the  surprise 
and  horror  of  all  the  performers,  the  boy  promptly  walked 
on  the  stage  close  up  to  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  with  a  total 
unconsciousness  of  the  'impropriety  he  was  committing, 
presented  the  beer  !  Her  distress  may  be  imagined  ;  she 
waved  the  boy  away  in  her  grand  manner  several  times, 
without  effect ;  at  last  the  people  behind  the  scenes,  by 
dint  of  beckoning,  stamping,  and  calling  in  half-audible 


46  CHARACTERISTICS. 

whispers,  succeeded  in  getting  him  off  with  the  beer,  part 
of  which  in  his  exit  he  spilled  on  the  stage  ;  while  the 
audience  were  in  an  uproar  of  laughter,  which  the  dignity 
of  the  actress  was  unable  to  quell  for  several  minutes. 
It  was  natural  that  Mrs.  Siddons  should  be  disgusted 
with  her  engagement  at  Leeds ;  and  on  the  dropping  of 
the  curtain  at  the  close  of  her  last  night's  performance, 
she  clasped  her  hands  in  thankfulness,  ejaculating  in  her 
most  tragic  tones,  "  Farewell,  ye  brutes  !  and  for  ever,  I 
trust :  ye  shall  never  torture  me  again,  be  assured." 

The  death  of  her  father  and  of  her  eldest  daughter 
had  a  terrible  and  lasting  effect  upon  her.  Suffering 
from  the  shock  of  these  events,  she  wisely  and  profoundly 
wrote  :  "  The  testimony  of  the  wisdom  of  all  ages,  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world  to  this  day,  is  childishness 
and  folly,  if  happiness  be  any  thing  more  than  a  name; 
and  I  am  assured  our  own  experience  will  not  enable  us 
to  refute  the  opinion :  no,  no,  it  is  the  inhabitant  of  a 
better  world.  Content,  the  offspring  of  Moderation,  is  all 
we  ought  to  aspire  to  here,  and  Moderation  will  be  our 
best  and  surest  guide  to  that  happiness  to  which  she  will 
most  assuredly  conduct  us." 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  often  honored  her  with  his  pres- 
ence at  the  theatre.  He,  it  is  said,  always  sat  in  the  or- 
chestra ;  and  in  that  place  were  to  be  seen  Burke,  Gibbon, 
Sheridan,  Windham,  and  the  illustrious  Fox,  of  whom  it 
was  frequently  said,  that  iron  tears  were  drawn  down 
Pluto's  gloomy  cheeks.  Often  she  was  heard  to  boast  of 
the  times  when  every  other  day  she  had  a  note  or  a  visit 
from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  from  Mrs.  Piozzi,  or  from 
Erskine,  Burke,  Sheridan,  or  Malone.  Erskine,  the  great- 
est pleader  of  his  age,  said  that  her  performance  was  a 
school  for  orators,  —  that  he  had  studied  her  cadences 
and  intonations,  and  that  to  the  harmony  of  her  periods 
and  pronunciation  he  was  indebted  for  "  his  best  dis- 
plays." 


SARAH  SJDDONS.  47 

"  I  had  frequently,"  she  says,  "  the  honor  of  dining 
with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  Leicester  Square.  At  his 
house  was  assembled  all  the  good,  the  wise,  the  talented, 
the  rank  and  fashion  of  the  age.  About  this  time  he 
produced  his  picture  of  me,"  she  says,  "  in  the  character 
of  the  Tragic  Muse.  In  justice  to  his  genius,  I  cannot 
but  remark  his  instantaneous  decision  of  the  attitude  and 
expression  of  the  picture.  It  was,  in  fact,  decided  within 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  When  I  attended  him  for  the 
first  sitting,  after  more  gratifying  encomiums  than  I  can 
now  repeat,  he  took  me  by  the  hand,  saying,  '  Ascend 
yon  undisputed  throne,  and  graciously  bestow  upon  me 
some  good  idea  of  the  Tragic  Muse.'  I  walked  up  the 
steps,  and  instantly  seated  myself  in  the  attitude  in  which 
the  Tragic  Muse  now  appears.  This  idea  satisfied  him 
so  well,  that  without  one  moment's  hesitation  he  deter- 
mined not  to  alter  it.  ...  I  was  delighted  when  he  as- 
sured me  that  he  was  certain  the  colors  would  remain 
unfaded  as  long  as  the  canvas  would  keep  them  together, 
which,  unhappily,  has  not  been  the  case  with  all  his 
works :  he  gallantly  added,  with  his  own  benevolent 
smile,  '  And,  to  confirm  my  opinion,  here  is  my  name ; 
for  I  have  resolved  to  go  down  to  posterity  on  the  hem 
of  your  garment.'  Accordingly  it  appears'  upon  the 
comer  of  the  drapery." 

It  would  not  do  to  omit  the  description  of  her  memo- 
rable call  upon  Dr.  Johnson.  "  I  do  not  exactly  remem- 
ber the  time,"  she  says  in  her  Memoranda,  "  that  I  was 
favored  with  an  invitation  from  Dr.  Johnson,  but  I  think 
it  was  during  the  first  year  of  my  celebrity.  The  Doctor 
was  then  a  wretched  invalid,  and  had  requested  my  friend 
Mr.  Windham  to  persuade  me  to  favor  him  by  drinking 
tea  with  him  in  Bolt  Court.  .  .  .  The  Doctor's  favorite 
female  character  in  Shakespeare  was  Katharine,  in  Henry 
VIII.  He  was  most  desirous  of  seeing  me  in  that  play; 
but  said,  '  I  am  too  deaf  and  too  blind  to  see  or  hear  it  at 


48  CHARACTERISTICS. 

a  greater  distance  than  the  stage-box,  and  have  little 
taste  for  making  myself  a  public  gaze,  in  so  distinguished 
a  situation.'  I  assured  him  that  nothing  would  gratify  me 
so  much  as  to  have  him  for  an  auditor,  and  that  I  could 
procure  for  him  an  easy-chair  at  the  stage-door,  where 
he  would  both  see  and  hear,  and  be  perfectly  concealed. 
He  appeared  greatly  pleased  with  this  arrangement,  but, 
unhappily  for  me,  he  did  not  live  to  fulfill  our  mutual 
wishes.  Some  weeks  before  he  died  I  made  him  some 
morning  visits.  He  was  extremely,  though  formally,  po- 
lite ;  always  apologized  for  being  unable  to  attend  me  to 
my  carriage;  conducted  me  to  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
kissed  my  hand,  and  bowing,  said,  *  Dear  madam,  I  am 
your  most  humble  servant ; '  and  these  were  always  re- 
peated without  the  slightest  variation." 

At  one  of  these  visits  of  Mrs  Siddons  to  Dr.  Johnson, 
Frank,  the  Doctor's  servant,  could  not  immediately  pro- 
vide the  distinguished  visitor  with  a  chair.  "  You  see, 
madam,"  said  Johnson,  "wherever  you  go  there  are  no 
seats  to  be  got." 

Mrs.  Siddons  sometimes  went  to  the  theatre  to  see 
others  act,  but  it  was  remarked  that  she  always  paid  the 
greatest  attention  to  the  performance ;  that  she  did  not, 
like  some  others,  sit  remarkably  forward,  and,  so  to  speak, 
throw  her  whole  person  into  the  lap  of  the  audience,  un- 
der the  pretext  of  applauding  strongly  those  whom  she 
admired.  She  never  applauded  at  all,  and  this  was  judi- 
cious.    She  was  sitting  with  their  judges  and  hers. 

In  acting,  she  seemed  to  forget  herself  wholly  in  her 
part.  "  It  must  have  happened  to  her,"  said  a  critical 
contemporary,  "  as  to  every  other  being  engaged  in  the 
concerns  of  life,  to  feel  depressed  by  care,  or  absent  by 
the  rumination  over  probable  occurrences.  But  on  the 
stage,  I  never  felt  the  least  indication  that  she  had  a  pri- 
vate existence,  or  could  be  any  thing  but  the  assumed 
character." 


SARAH  SIDDONS.  49 

"When  Mrs.  Siddons  quitted  her  dressing-room,"  says 
the  same  observing  authority,  "  I  believe  she  left  there 
the  last  thought  about  herself.  Never  did  I  see  her  eye 
wander  from  the  business  of  the  scene  —  no  recognizance 
of  the  most  noble  of  her  friends  exchanged  the  character 
for  the  individual." 

Mrs.  Siddons'  health  was  certainly  very  feeble  during 
the  winter  and  spring  of  1804-5,  ^^^  she  performed  only 
twice  at  Covent  Garden  in  the  whole  course  of  the  sea- 
son. "  Yet  I  suspect,"  says  her  biographer,  "  that  bad 
health  was  not  the  only  cause  of  her  absence  from  the 
stage.  This  was  the  season  when  Master  Betty  made  his 
first  appearance  on  the  London  boards,  and  was  equally 
the  magnet  of  attraction  at  each  of  the  great  theatres. 
The  popularity  of  that  baby-faced  boy,  who  possessed  not 
even  the  elements  of  a  good  actor,  was  a  hallucination  in 
the  public  mind,  and  a  disgrace  to  theatrical  history.  It 
enabled  managers  to  give  him  sums  for  his  childish  rant- 
ing that  were  never  accorded  to  the  acting  of  a  Garrick 
or  a  Siddons.  His  bust  was  cut  in  marble  by  the  best 
sculptors  j  he  was  painted  by  Opie  and  Northcote  ;  and 
the  verses  that  were  poured  out  upon  him  were  in  a  style 
of  idolatrous  admiration."  The  young  Roscius,  as  Mas- 
ter Betty  was  called,  whom,  at  Belfast,  Mrs.  Siddons  had 
inspired  with  an  irresistible  passion  for  tragedy,  carried 
the  public  of  London  by  storm,  the  multitude  neglecting 
even  the  great  actress  herself  for  the  youthful  prodigy. 
But,  making  his  fortune  the  first  season,  he  was  sent  to 
college,  and  Mrs.  Siddons  again  reigned  supreme. 

The  last  season  but  one  (1810-11),  she  performed 
nearly  the  whole  of  her  characters ;  and  never,  it  is  said, 
did  she  display  greater  dignity  and  force  of  mind.  In 
18 1 2  she  was  announced  to  appear  in  Lady  Macbeth  for 
the  last  time.  The  following  year,  however,  she  appeared 
in  that  part  for  the  benefit  of  her  brother  Charles.  In 
the  year  18 16  she  performed  Katharine  once  more,  for 
4 


50  CHARACTERISTICS. 

the  same  object  j  and  consented  to  repeat  her  Lady  Mac- 
beth to  gratify  the  Princess  Charlotte,  and  her  Royal 
Consort  of  Saxe-Coburg. 

She  gave  public  readings  from  Shakespeare  at  the  Argyll 
Rooms,  during  two  seasons,  "from  the  two-fold  induce- 
ments of  personal  gratification  and  an  important  addition 
to  her  income,"  which  were  now  necessary  to  support  her 
appropriately.  "  A  large  red  screen  formed  what  painters 
would  call  a  background  to  the  figure  of  the  charming 
reader.  She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  her  dark  hair,  a 
la  Grecque,  crossed  her  temples  in  full  masses.  Behind 
the  screen  a  light  was  placed  ;  and,  as  the  head  moved, 
a  bright  circular  irradiation  seemed  to  wave  around  its 
outline,  which  gave  to  a  classic  mind  the  impression,  that 
the  priestess  of  Apollo  stood  before  you,  uttering  the  in- 
spiration of  the  deity,  in  immortal  verse." 

Joanna  Bailhe  dined  with  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  company 
with  the  poet  Rogers  and  his  sister.  The  great  actress 
was  now  an  old  woman.  "  We  expected,"  said  the  poetess, 
"to  see  much  decay  in  her  powers  of  expression,  and 
consequently  to  have  our  pleasure  mingled  with  pain. 
Judge  then  of  our  delight  when  we  heard  her  read  the  best 
scenes  of  Hamlet,  with  expression  of  countenance,  voice, 
and  action,  that  would  have  done  honor  to  her  best  days  I 
She  was  before  us  as  an  unconquerable  creature,  over 
whose  astonishing  gifts  of  nature  Time  had  no  power.  At 
the  end  of  the  reading,  Rogers  said,  '  Oh,  that  we  could 
have  assembled  a  company  of  young  people  to  witness 
this,  that  they  might  have  conveyed  the  memory  of  it 
down  to  another  generation.'  " 

Campbell  had  once  by  chance  the  honor  of  seeing  Mrs. 
Siddons  and  the  Duke  of  Welliagton  in  the  same  party 
at  Paris.  They  were  observed,  after  a  first  mutual  recog- 
nizance, to  stand  by  each  other  without  conversing.  She 
had  very  little  light  conversation  in  mixed  company  for 
any  body,  but  when  her  heart  was  interested,  she  was 


SARAH  SIDDONS.  5 1 

very  condescending,  and  would  exert  herself  to  please. 
She  doted  upon  children.  Some  time  after  the  poet  had 
seen  her  in  Paris,  he  visited  her,  with  his  son,  who  was 
then  about  six  years  old.  He  had  to  leave  the  child  with 
her  for  about  an  hour,  and  in  his  absence  he  had  some 
misgivings  that  it  was  unfair  to  have  taxed  her  with  the 
company  of  so  young  a  visitant.  But  when  he  came  back, 
he  found  the  little  fellow's  face  lighted  up  in  earnest  con- 
versation with  her.  She  had  been  amusing  him  with 
stories  adapted  to  his  capacity,  and  bestowed  attentions 
on  a  child  which  she  had  refused  to  a  conqueror. 


III. 

DOCTOR  JOHNSON. 

It  is  impossible  to  think  of  Doctor  Johnson  without 
being  struck  with  his  prodigiousness.  He  was  extraor- 
dinary in  every  way :  in  his  mind  and  in  his  body,  in  his 
wisdom  and  in  his  prejudices,  in  his  learning  and  in  his 
superstitions,  in  his  piety  and  in  his  bigotry :  there  was 
nothing  ordinary  about  him.  All  descriptions  of  him  are 
nearly  alike,  all  impressions  much  the  same.  However 
excellent  or  mean  the  artist  or  the  biographer,  the  picture 
is  recognized ;  there  is  no  mistaking  the  great  lexicog- 
rapher, the  imperial  talker ;  the  man  and  the  character 
stand  before  you. 

In  St.  Mary's  Square,  Lichfield,  there  is  a  statue  of 
"the  mighty  sage."  "The  figure,"  says  Hawthorne,  "  is 
colossal  (though  perhaps  not  much  more  so  than  the 
mountainous  Doctor  himself).  .  .  .  The  statue  is  im- 
mensely massive,  a  vast  ponderosity  of  stone,  not  finely 
spiritualized,  nor,  indeed,  fully  humanized,  but  rather  re- 
sembling a  great  stone-bowlder  than  a  man." 

Boswell's  book  has  done  more  for  Johnson,  in  the 
judgment  of  Macaulay,  'than  the  best  of  his  own  books 
could  do.  "  The  memory  of  other  authors  is  kept  alive  by 
their  works.  But  the  memory  of  Johnson  keeps  many  of 
his  works  alive.  The  old  philosopher  is  still  among  us 
in  the  brown  coat  with  the  metal  buttons  and  the  shirt 
which  ought  to  be  at  wash,  blinking,  puffing,  rolling  his 
head,  drumming  with  his  fingers,  tearing  his  meat  like  a 
tiger,  and  swallowing  his  tea  in  oceans." 

"  To  have  seen  such  a  man  as  Johnson,"  said  Dr.  Camp- 
bell, "  was  a  thing  to  talk  of  a  century  hence." 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  53 

"His  person,"  says  Lord  Pembroke,  "was  large,  ro- 
bust, I  may  say,  approaching  to  the  gigantic,  and  grown 
unwieldy  from  corpulency.  His  countenance  was  natu- 
rally of  the  cast  of  an  ancient  statue,  but  somewhat  dis- 
figured by  the  scars  of  that  evil,  which,  it  was  formerly 
imagined,  the  royal  touch  could  cure.  He  was  now  [when 
he  started  on  his  tour  to  the  Hebrides]  in  his  sixty-fourth 
year,  and  was  become  a  little  dull  of  hearing.  .  .  .  His 
head,  and  sometimes  also  his  body,  shook  with  a  kind  of 
motion  like  the  effect  of  a  palsy  :  he  appeared  to  be  fre- 
quently disturbed  by  cramps,  or  convulsive  contractions, 
of  the  nature  of  that  distemper  called  St.  Vitus'  dance. 
He  wore  a  full  suit  of  plain  brown  clothes,  with  twisted 
hair-buttons  of  the  same  color,  a  large  bushy  grayish  wig, 
a  plain  shirt,  black  worsted  stockings,  and  silver  buckles. 
Upon  this  tour,  when  journeying,  he  wore  boots,  and  a 
very  wide  brown  cloth  great  coat,  with  pockets  which 
might  almost  have  held  the  two  volumes  of  his  folio  dic- 
tionary, and  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  large  English  oak- 
stick." 

The  great  oak-stick  that  he  had  brought  from  London 
he  lost  in  the  Hebrides.  It  had,  we  are  informed,  the 
properties  of  a  measure ;  for  one  nail  was  driven  into  it 
at  the  length  of  a  foot ;  another  at  that  of  a  yard.  In 
return  for  the  services  it  had  done  him,  he  said  he  would 
make  a  present  of  it  to  some  museum  ;  but  he  little 
thought  he  was  so  soon  to  lose  it.  As  he  preferred  riding 
with  a  switch,  it  was  intrusted  to  a  fellow  to  be  delivered 
to  the  baggage-man,  who  followed  at  some  distance  ;  but 
he  never  saw  it  more.  "  I  could  not,"  said  his  friend, 
"  persuade  him  out  of  a  suspicion  that  it  had  been  stolen. 
*No,  no,  my  friend,'  said  he;  'it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  any  man  in  Mull,  who  has  got  it,  will  part  with  it. 
Consider,  sir,  the  value  of  such  a  piece  of  timber  here  ! '  " 

Madame  D'Arblay  describes  him  as  "tall,  stout,  grand, 
and  authoritative :  but  he  stoops  horribly  j  his  back  is 


54  CHARACTERISTICS. 

quite  round :  his  mouth  is  continually  opening  and  shut- 
ting, as  if  he  were  chewing  something  ;  he  has  a  singular 
method  of  twirling  his  fingers,  and  twisting  his  hands : 
his  vast  body  is  in  constant  agitation,  see-sawing  back- 
ward and  forward :  his  feet  are  never  a  moment  quiet ; 
and  his  whole  great  person  looked  often  as  if  it  were 
going  to  roll  itself,  quite  voluntarily,  from  his  chair  to  the 
floor." 

He  held  his  head  to  one  side,  we  are  told,  toward  his 
right  shoulder,  and  shook  it  in  a  tremulous  manner,  mov- 
ing his  body  backward  and  forward,  and  rubbing  his  left 
knee  in  the  same  direction  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
In  the  intervals  of  articulating,  he  made  various  sounds 
with  his  mouth ;  sometimes  as  if  ruminating,  or  what  is 
called  chewing  the  cud,  sometimes  giving  a  half  whistle, 
sometimes  making  his  tongue  play  backward  from  the 
roof  of  his  mouth,  as  if  chuckling  like  a  hen,  and  some- 
times protruding  it  against  his  upper  gums  in  front,  as  if 
pronouncing  quickly  under  his  breath,  too,  too,  too,  all 
this  accompanied  sometimes  with  a  thoughtful  look,  but 
more  frequently  with  a  smile.  Generally  when  he  had 
concluded  a  period,  in  the  course  of  a  dispute,  by  which 
time  he  was  a  good  deal  exhausted  by  violence  and  vo- 
ciferation, he  used  to  blow  out  his  breath  like  a  whale. 
He  was  very  near-sighted,  and  his  big  wig  was  often  a 
good  deal  singed  in  consequence. 

As  a  boy  he  was  overgrown,  if  not  monstrous.  A  lady 
once  consulted  him  on  the  degree  of  turpitude  to  be  at- 
tached to  her  son's  robbing  an  orchard.  "  Madam,"  said 
Johnson,  "it  all  depends  upon  the  weight  of  the  boy. 
David  Garrick,  who  was  always  a  little  fellow,  robbed  a 
dozen  of  orchards  with  impunity ;  but  the  very  first  time 
I  climbed  up  an  apple-tree  —  for  I  was  always  a  heavy 
boy  —  the  bough  broke  with  me,  and  it  was  called  judg- 
ment. I  suppose  that  is  why  Justice  is  represented  with 
a  pair  of  scales."    This,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  in 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  55 

Hood's  Johnsoniana  ;  but  it  seems  too  characteristic  and 
natural  to  be  wholly  apocryphal. 

He  is  described  as  "  a  robust  genius,  born  to  grapple 
with  whole  libraries."  When  a  child,  in  petticoats,  he 
got  by  heart  the  Collect  for  the  day  from  the  Common 
Prayer-book,  and  repeated  it  distinctly,  though  he  had 
read  it  but  twice.  While  yet  a  boy,  during  the  first  inter- 
view with  a  tutor,  in  the  presence  of  grave  professors,  he 
quoted  Macrobius,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  company. 
About  the  same  time,  after  a  violent  attack  of  his  disor- 
der, he  communicated  the  state  of  his  case  to  his  physi- 
cian, in  Latin,  who  was  struck  with  the  "  extraordinary 
acuteness,  research  and  eloquence  "  of  the  paper. 

It  is  easy  for  us  to  see  him,  as  he  has  been  described 
to  us,  at  table.  He  was  totally  absorbed  in  the  busi- 
ness of  the  moment ;  his  looks  seemed  riveted  to  his 
plate  j  nor  would  he,  unless  in  very  high  company,  say, 
one  word,  or  even  pay  the  least  attention  to  what  was 
said  by  others,  till  he  had  satisfied  his  appetite,  which 
was  so  fierce,  and  indulged  with  such  intenseness,  that 
while  in  the  act  of  eating,  the  veins  of  his  forehead 
swelled,  and  generally  a  strong  perspiration  was  visible. 
In  eating  and  drinking  he  could  refrain,  but  he  could  not 
use  moderately.  Every  thing  about  his  character  and 
manners,  it  is  stated,  was  forcible  and  violent;  there 
never  was  any  moderation  ;  many  a  day  did  he  fast,  many 
a  year  did  he  refrain  from  wine  ;  but  when  he  did  eat,  it 
was  voraciously;  when  he  did  drink  wine,  it  was  copi- 
ously. He  could  practice  abstinence,  but  not  temperance. 
He  told  Boswell  that  he  had  fasted  two  days  without  in- 
convenience, and  that  he  had  never  been  hungry  but 
once.  "  Early  in  life,"  he  said  to  Edwards,  "  I  drank 
wine  :  for  many  years  I  drank  none.  I  then,  for  several 
years,  drank  a  great  deal."  "  Some  hogsheads,  I  war- 
rant you,"  responded  Edwards,  daringly,  and  was  uncon- 
tradicted.    "I  did  not,"  he  said,  on  another  occasion, 


56  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"leave  off  wine  because  I  could  not  bear  it.  I  have 
drunk  three  bottles  of  port  without  being  the  worse  for 
it."  We  all  know  how  copiously  he  drank  tea  at  Thrale's. 
Sixteen  cups,  was  it  not,  that  he  drank  at  a  sitting  ? 

He  said  when  he  lodged  in  the  Temple,  and  had  no 
regular  system  of  life,  he  had  fasted  for  two  days  at  a 
time,  during  which  he  had  gone  about  visiting,  though 
not  at  the  hours  of  dinner  or  supper ;  that  he  had  drank 
tea,  but  he  had  eaten  no  bread  :  that  this  was  no  inten- 
tional fasting,  but  happened  just  in  the  course  of  a  lit- 
erary life.  He  closes  one  of  his  letters  to  Cave,  "  I  am, 
sir,  yours,  impransus,  Sam  Johnson."  Meaning,  without 
breakfast.  No  wonder  he  speaks  of  his  life,  in  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Thrale,  as  "  diversified  by  misery,  spent  part  in 
the  sluggishness  of  penur)^,  and  part  under  the  violence 
of  pain,  in  gloomy  discontent  or  importunate  distress." 

In  the  midst  of  his  own  distresses  and  pains,  we  are 
assured,  he  was  ever  compassionate  to  the  distresses  of 
others,  and  actively  earnest  in  procuring  them  aid.  In  a 
note  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  he  says  :  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  ask  for  some  relief  for  a  poor  man,  to  whom,  I  hope, 
I  have  given  what  I  can  be  expected  to  spare.  The  man 
importunes  me  and  the  blow  goes  round." 

During  the  visit  of  the  "  Ursa  Major  "  (as  Johnson 
was  called  by  Boswell's  father)  to  the  Parliament  House 
in  Edinburgh,  a  brother  of  Lord  Erskine,  after  being  pre- 
sented to  him  by  Boswell,  and  having  made  his  bow, 
slipped  a  shilling  into  Boswell's  hand,  whispering  that  it 
was  for  the  sight  of  his  bear.  "  Johnson,  to  be  sure," 
says  Goldsmith,  "  has  a  roughness  in  his  manner ;  but  no 
man  alive  has  a  more  tender  heart.  He  has  nothing  of 
the  bear  but  his  skin." 

"  What  a  humanity  the  old  man  had  ! "  exclaims  Thack- 
eray. "  He  was  a  kindly  partaker  of  all  honest  pleasures  : 
a  fierce  foe  to  all  sin,  but  a  gentle  enemy  to  all  sinners. 
*  What,  boys,  are  you  for  a  frolic  ? '  he  cries,  when  Top- 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  57 

ham  Beauclerk  comes  and  wakes  him  up  at  midnight : 
*  I  'm  with  you.'  And  away  he  goes,  tumbles  on  his 
homely  old  clothes,  and  trundles  through  Covent  Gar- 
den with  the  young  fellows.  When  he  used  to  frequent 
Garrick's  theatre,  and  had  'the  liberty  of  the  scenes, 
all  the  actresses,'  he  says,  'knew  me,  and  dropped  me  a 
courtesy  as  they  passed  to  the  stage.'  " 

What  Erasmus  said  of  Luther  may  with  the  same  pro- 
priety be  said  of  Johnson  —  there  were  two  natures  in 
him.  There  is  a  story  that  as  Johnson  was  riding  in  a 
carriage  through  London  on  a  rainy  day,  he  overtook  a 
poor  woman  carrying  a  baby,  without  any  protection  from 
the  weather.  Making  the  driver  stop  the  coach,  he  in- 
vited the  poor  woman  to  get  in  with  her  child,  which  she 
did.  After  she  had  seated  herself,  the  Doctor  said  to 
her,  "  My  good  woman,  I  think  it  most  likely  that  the 
motion  of  the  coach  will  wake  your  child  in  a  little  while, 
and  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  if  you  talk  any  "baby- 
talk  to  it,  you  will  have  to  get  out  of  the  coach."  As 
the  Doctor  had  anticipated,  the  child  soon  awoke,  and 
the  forgetful  mother  exclaimed  to  it :  "  Oh !  the  little 
dear,  is  he  going  to  open  his  eyesy-pysy  ?  "  "  Stop  the 
coach,  driver !  "  shouted  Johnson  ;  and  the  woman  had  to 
get  out  and  finish  her  journey  on  foot.  What  occurred 
when  he  went  with  his  sweetheart,  Mrs.  Porter,  to  Derby 
on  horseback  to  be  married,  is  familiar  to  every  one  at 
all  acquainted  with  his  history.  Here  is  his  own  account 
of  their  journey  to  church  on  the  nuptial  morn  :  "  Sir,  she 
had  read  the  old  romances,  and  had  got  into  her  head 
the  fantastical  notion  that  a  woman  of  spirit  should  use 
her  lover  like  a  dog.  So,  sir,  at  first,  she  told  me  that  I 
rode  too  fast,  and  she  could  not  keep  up  with  me ;  and, 
when  I  rode  a  little  slower,  she  passed  me,  and  com- 
plained that  I  lagged  behind.  I  was  not  to  be  made  the 
slave  of  caprice  ;  and  I  resolved  to  begin  as  I  meant  to 
end.     I  therefore  pushed  on  briskly,  till  I  was  fairly  out 


58  CHARACTERISTICS. 

of  her  sight.  The  road  lay  between  two  hedges,  so  I 
was  sure  she  could  not  miss  it ;  and  I  contrived  that  she 
should  soon  come  up  with  me.  When  she  did,  I  observed 
her  to  be  in  tears."  This,  be  it  remembered,  just  before 
what  he  declared  to  be  "  a  love  marriage  on  both  sides  !  " 

His  melancholy  was  sometimes  very  distressing.  One 
of  his  friends  found  him,  on  one  occasion,  in  a  deplor- 
able state  —  "  sighing,  groaning,  talking  to  himself,  and 
restlessly  walking  from  room  to  room.  He  then  used 
this  emphatical  expression  of  the  misery  he  felt :  *  I  would 
consent  to  have  a  limb  amputated  to  recover  my  spirits.' " 
Being  asked  if  he  was  really  of  opinion  that,  though  in 
general  happiness  was  very  rare  in  human  life,  a  man 
was  not  sometimes  happy  in  the  moment  that  was  present, 
he  answered,  "  Never,  but  when  he  is  drunk."  A  lady 
once  said  to  him  that  she  could  not  understand  why  men 
got  drunk ;  she  wondered  how  a  man  could  find  pleas- 
ure in  making  a  beast  of  himself;  and  Johnson  said, 
"  He  who  makes  a  beast  of  himself  gets  rid  of  the  pain 
of  being  a  man." 

We  have  the  authority  of  Miss  Reynolds  for  stating 
that,  for  the  diversion  of  his  mind,  he  would  sometimes 
climb  pretty  large  trees,  and  that  when  he  was  between 
fifty  and  sixty  years  old.  When  he  felt  his  fancy,  or 
fancied  that  he  felt  it,  disordered,  his  constant  recurrence, 
says  Mrs.  Piozzi,  was  to  the  study  of  arithmetic ;  and 
one  day  that  he  was  totally  confined  to  his  chamber,  and 
she  inquired  what  he  had  been  doing  to  divert  himself, 
he  showed  her  a  calculation  which  she  could  scarce  be 
made  to  understand,  so  vast  was  the  plan  of  it,  and  so 
very  intricate  were  the  figures :  no  other,  indeed,  than 
that  the  National  Debt,  computing  it  at  one  hundred  and 
eighty  millions  sterling,  would,  if  converted  into  silver, 
serve  to  make  a  meridian  of  that  metal,  she  forgot  how 
broad  (to  use  her  own  language),  "  for  the  globe  of  the 
whole  earth." 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  59 

His  great  resource  of  reading  was  generally  effectual 
in  quieting  his  mind  and  passions  when  most  depressed 
or  turbulent.  An  instance  of  his  voracious  reading  is 
given  by  his  biographer.  Before  dinner  Doctor  John- 
son seized  upon  Mr.  Charles  Sheridan's  Account  of  the 
Late  Revolution  in  Sweden,  and  seemed  to  read  it  raven- 
ously, as  if  he  devoured  it.  **  He  knows  how  to  read 
better  than  any  one,"  said  Mr.  Knowles  ;  "  he  gets  at  the 
substance  of  a  book  directly ;  he  tears  out  the  heart  of 
it."  He  kept  it  wrapped  up  in  the  table-cloth,  in  his  lap, 
during  the  time  of  dinner,  from  an  avidity  to  have  one 
entertainment  in  readiness  when  he  should  have  finished 
another ;  resembling  (if  one  may  use  so  coarse  a  simile) 
a  dog  who  holds  a  bone  in  his  paws  in  reserve,  while  he 
eats  something  else  which  has  been  thrown  to  him. 

Tate  Wilkinson,  in  his  Memoirs,  relates  that  Johnson, 
being  with  Foote,  Holland,  Woodward,  and  others,  at  a 
party  at  Mr.  Garrick's  villa  at  Hampton,  as  they  were 
conversing  on  different  subjects,  fell  into  a  reverie,  from 
which  his  attention  was  drawn  by  the  accidentally  casting 
his  eyes  on  a  book-case,  to  which  he  was  as  naturally  at- 
tracted as  the  needle  to  the  pole  :  on  perusing  the  title- 
pages  of  the  best  bound,  he  muttered  inwardly  with  in- 
effable contempt,  but  proceeded  on  his  exploring  business 
of  observation,  ran  his  finger  down  the  middle  of  each 
page,  and  then  dashed  the  volume  disdainfully  upon  the 
floor,  the  which  Garrick  beheld  with  much  wonder  and 
vexation,  while  the  most  profound  silence  and  attention 
was  bestowed  on  the  learned  Doctor ;  but  when  he  saw 
his  twentieth  well-bound  book  thus  manifestly  disgraced 
on  the  ground,  and  expecting  his  whole  valuable  collec- 
tion would  share  the  same  fate,  he  could  no  longer  re- 
strain himself,  but  suddenly  cried  out  most  vociferously,  — 

"  Why,  d n  it.  Doctor,  you,  you,  you  will  destroy  all 

my  books  ! "  At  this,  Johnson  raised  his  head,  paused, 
fixed  his  eyes,  and  replied,  "  Lookee,  David,  you  do  un- 
derstand plays,  but  you  know  nothing  about  books  !  " 


6o  CHARACTERISTICS. 

His  personal  courage  was  prodigious.  He  would  beat 
large  dogs  that  were  fighting,  till  they  separated.  To 
prove  that  a  gun  would  not  burst  if  charged  with  many 
balls,  he  put  in  six  or  seven,  and  fired  it  off  against  a 
wall.  One  night  he  was  -  attacked  in  the  street  by  four 
men,  all  of  whom  he  kept  at  bay  till  relieved  by  the 
watch.  A  man,  having  taken  possession  of  his  seat  be- 
tween the  side-scenes,  and  refusing  to  give  it  up,  was 
tossed  by  the  mad  philosopher,  chair  and  all,  into  the  pit. 
Foote  had  resolved  to  ridicule  him  on  the  stage,  but 
changed  his  mind  when  he  heard  that  Johnson  had  been 
inquiring  of  Tom  Davies,  the  bookseller,  the  price  of 
oak-sticks.  "  I  am  told  that  Foote  means  to  take  me  off, 
as  he  calls  it,  and  I  am  determined  the  fellow  shall  not 
do  it  with  impunity."  He  had  sometime  before  knocked 
down  Osborne  with  a  folio,  and  put  his  foot  upon  his 
neck.  "  Sir,  he  was  impertinent  to  me,  and  I  beat  him." 
His  defiant  letter  to  Macpherson  shows  how  utterly  im- 
possible it  was  to  intimidate  him. 

Yet  he  had  a  great  horror  of  death.  He  said  he 
never  had  a  moment  in  which  death  was  not  terrible  to 
him.  Being  told  that  Dr.  Dodd  seemed  willing  to  die, 
and  full  of  hopes  of  happiness,  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  Dr.  Dodd 
would  have  given  both  his  hands  and  both  his  legs  to 
have  lived.  The  better  a  man  is,  the  more  he  is  afraid 
of  death,  having  a  clearer  view  of  infinite  purity." 

He  defended  prize-fighting.  "I  am  sorry,"  he  said, 
"  that  prize-fighting  is  gone  out.  Every  art  should  be 
preser\^ed,  and  the  art  of  defense  is  surely  important. 
Prize-fighting  made  people  accustomed  not  to  be  alarmed 
at  seeing  their  own  blood,  or  feeling  a  little  pain  from  a 
wound." 

He  hated  gross  flattery.  When  Hannah  More  was  in- 
troduced to  him  she  began  singing  his  praise  in  the 
warmest  manner,  and  continued  in  such  an  extravagant 
strain,  that  he  turned  suddenly  to  her,  with  a  stern  and 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  6 1 

angry  countenance,  and  said,  "  Madam,  before  you  flatter 
a  man  so  grossly  to  his  face,  you  should  consider  whether 
or  not  your  flattery  is  worth  his  having." 

Yet  he  thought  himself  very  polite.  Speaking  of  Dr. 
Barnard,  the  provost  of  Eton,  he  said,  "  Barnard  was  the 
only  man  that  did  justice  to  my  good-breeding  :  and  you 
may  observe  that  I  am  well-bred  to  a  degree  of  needless 
scrupulosity.  No  man,"  continued  he,  not  observing  the 
amazement  of  his  hearers,  "  no  man  is  so  cautious  not 
to  interrupt  another;  no  man  thinks  it  so  necessary  to 
appear  attentive  when  others  are  speaking ;  no  man  so 
steadily  refuses  preference  to  himself,  or  so  willingly  be- 
stows it  on  another,  as  I  do  ;  nobody  holds  so  strongly 
as  I  do  the  necessity  of  ceremony,  and  the  ill-effects 
which  follow  the  breach  of  it :  yet  people  think  me  rude ; 
but  Barnard  did  me  justice." 

Boswell  said  that  though  Johnson  might  be  charged 
with  bad  humor  at  times,  he  was  always  a  good-natured 
man  ;  and  Reynolds  remarked,  that  when  upon  any  occa- 
sion Johnson  had  been  rough  to  any  person  in  company, 
he  took  the  first  opportunity  of  reconciliation,  by  drink- 
ing to  him,  or  addressing  his  discourse  to  him ;  but  if  he 
found  his  dignified  indirect  overtures  sullenly  neglected, 
he  was  quite  indifferent,  and  considered  himself  as  hav- 
ing done  all  that  he  ought  to  do,  and  the  other  as  now  in 
the  wrong. 

Polite  or  not,  he  certainly  excelled  in  compliment  when 
he  saw  fit  to  indulge  in  it.  His  compliment  to  the  wife 
of  his  friend  Dr.  Beattie  is  one  of  the  prettiest  we  re- 
member. It  occurs  in  a  grave  letter  to  a  friend,  and  is 
as  follows  :  "  Of  Dr.  Beattie  I  should  have  thought  much, 
but  that  his  lady  put  him  out  of  my  head ;  she  is  a  very 
lovely  woman." 

His  royal  treatment  of  Mrs.  Siddons  will  be  recollected 
by  every  admirer  of  that  magnificent  woman.  He  was 
an  old  man  and  a  wretched  invalid  when  the  great  actress 


62  CHARACTERISTICS. 

became  celebrated.  He  asked  her  in  the  most  respectful 
and  complimentary  way  to  drink  tea  with  him  in  Bolt 
Court.  He  lamented  to  her  that  his  infirmities  prevented 
him  from  seeing  her  in  his  favorite  female  character, 
Katharine,  in  Henry  VIII.  Some  weeks  before  he  died 
she  made  him  some  morning  visits.  He  was  extremely, 
though  formally  polite  j  always  apologized  for  being  un- 
able to  attend  her  to  her  carriage ;  conducted  her  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  kissed  her  hand,  and  bowing,  said, 
"  Dear  madam,  I  am  your  most  humble  servant ; "  and 
these,  she  says,  were  always  repeated  without  the  slightest 
variation. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  visits  that  Frank,  the  Doctor's 
servant,  could  not  immediately  provide  the  distinguished 
visitor  with  a  chair.  "  You  see,  madam,"  said  Johnson, 
"  wherever  you  go  there  are  no  seats  to  be  got." 

Best,  in  his  Personal  and  Literary  Memorials,  relates 
this  remarkable  circumstance  of  Johnson  :  "  After  break- 
fast we  walked  to  the  top  of  a  very  steep  hill  behind  the 
house.  When  we  arrived  at  the  summit,  Mr.  Langton 
said,  '  Poor  dear  Doctor  Johnson,  when  he  came  to  this 
spot,  turned  to  look  down  the  hill,  and  said  he  was  de- 
tennined  to  take  a  roll  down.  When  we  understood 
what  he  meant  to  do  (said  Langton)  we  endeavored  to 
dissuade  him  ;  but  he  was  resolute,  saying  he  had  not  had 
a  roll  for  a  long  time ;  and  taking  out  of  his  lesser  pockets 
whatever  might  be  in  them  —  keys,  pencil,  purse,  or  pen- 
knife —  and  laying  himself  parallel  with  the  edge  of  the 
hill,  he  actually  descended,  turning  himself  over  and  over 
till  he  came  to  the  bottom.'  This  story  was  told  with 
such  gravity,  and  with  an  air  of  such  affectionate  remem- 
brance of  a  departed  friend,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
suppose  this  extraordinary  freak  of  the  great  lexicog- 
rapher to  have  been  a  picture  or  invention  of  Mr.  Lang- 
ton." 

Such,  it  is  asserted,  was  the  heat  and  irritability  of  his 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  63 

blood,  that  he  pared  his  nails  to  the  quick,  and  scraped 
the  joints  of  his  fingers  with  a  penknife  till  they  were  red 
and  raw.  "There  is  no  arguing  with  Johnson,"  were  the 
words  of  Gibber,  in  one  of  his  comedies,  put,  you  re- 
member, into  the  mouth  of  Goldsmith ;  "  for  when  his 
pistol  misses  fire,  he  knocks  you  down  with  the  but-end 
of  it."  Dr.  Alexander  McLean  was  so  struck  with  his 
powerful  conversation,  that  he  observed,  "  This  man  is 
just  a  hogshead  of  sense."  His  laugh,  too,  was  tremen- 
dous j  not  like  the  laugh  of  any  other  man.  "  He  laughs," 
says  Davies,  "  like  a  rhinoceros."  Which  reminds  you  of 
Hunt's  observation  upon  the  elephant:  "The  more  you 
consider  him,  the  more  he  makes  good  his  claim-  to  be 
considered  the  Doctor  Johnson  of  the  brute  creation." 
When  Hogarth  first  saw  him,  he  thought  he  was  an  idiot ; 
but  when  he  heard  him  speak,  he  thought  him  inspired. 
Garrick  said  of  his  superlative  powers  of  wit :  "  Rabelais 
and  all  the  other  wits  are  nothing,  compared  with  him. 
You  may  be  diverted  by  them ;  but  Johnson  gives  you 
a  forcible  hug,  and  shakes  laughter  out  of  you,  whether 
you  will  or  no."  Speaking  of  Garrick,  how  funny  it  must 
have  been  to  the  boys  of  the  little  school  at  Edial  to 
see  the  future  great  actor,  whose  death,  Johnson  said, 
"eclipsed  the  gayety  of  nations,  and  impoverished  the 
stock  of  harmless  pleasures,"  take  off  the  "tumultuous 
and  awkward  fondness  "  of  their  master  for  "  Tetty,"  or 
"  Tetsy,"  as  he  called  his  wife,  —  who  was  fat,  fifty,  and 
any  thing  but  pretty. 

That  was  an  interesting  view  that  Maxwell  had  of  John- 
son, when  two  young  women  visited  him  to  consult  on  the 
subject  of  Methodism,  to  which  they  were  inclined.  It 
shows  graphically  another  side  of  the  great  moralist. 
"  Come,"  said  he,  "  you  pretty  fools,  dine  with  Maxwell 
and  me  at  the  Mitre,  and  we  will  talk  over  the  subject ; " 
which,  said  Maxwell,  they  did,  and  after  dinner  he  took 
one  of  them  upon  his  knee,  and  fondled  her  for  half  an 
hour  together. 


64  CHARACTERISTICS. 

At  the  house  of  Lady  Margaret  MacDonald  one  of 
the  married  ladies,  a  lively,  pretty  little  woman,  good- 
humoredly  sat  down  upon  the  Doctor's  knee,  and,  being 
encouraged  by  some  of  the  company,  put  her  hands  round 
his  neck,  and  kissed  him.  "  Do  it  again,"  said  he,  "  and 
let  us  see  who  will  tire  first."  He  kept  her  on  his  knee 
some  time,  while  he  and  she  drank  tea. 

He  was  great  in  his  self-respect,  and  his  conduct  during 
the  famous  interview  with  the  King  in  the  library  of  the 
Queen's  house,  proved  that  he  could  not,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, be  made  to  forget  it.  While  he  showed  the 
profoundest  respect  for  his  majesty,  his  conversation  was 
such  as  one  gentleman  would  have  with  another.  Dr. 
Hill,  one  of  the  King's  favorites,  was  discussed  and  crit- 
icised, and  the  literary  journals  of  the  day  were  freely 
commented  upon  by  both. 

He  had,  every  body  knows,  an  extravagant  regard  for 
the  hierarchy,  and  particularly  for  the  dignitaries  of  the 
Church.  That  bow  of  his  to  the  Archbishop  of  York, 
described  by  Mr.  Seward,  who  witnessed  it,  was  in  char- 
acter with  the  man,  and  was  a  thing  to  see.  It  was  "  such 
a  studied  elaboration  of  homage,  such  an  extension  of 
limb,  such  a  flexion  of  body,  as  has  seldom  or  ever  been 
equaled."  He  once  said  that  he  who  could  entertain  se- 
rious apprehensions  of  danger  to  the  Church,  would  have 
"  cried  fire  in  the  Deluge." 

"  I  hold  Johnson,"  said  Thackeray,  "  to  be  the  great 
supporter  of  the  British  monarchy  and  Church  during  the 
last  age  —  better  than  whole  benches  of  bishops,  better 
than  Pitts,  Norths,  and  the  great  Burke  himself.  John- 
son had  the  ear  -of  the  nation  ;  his  immense  authority 
reconciled  it  to  loyalty,  and  shamed  it  out  of  irreligion. 
When  George  III.  talked  with  him,  and  the  people  heard 
the  great  author's  good  opinion  of  the  sovereign,  whole 
generations  rallied  to  the  King.  Johnson  was  revered  as 
a  sort  of  oracle ;  and  the  oracle  declared  for  Church  and 
King." 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  65 

His  sense  of  justice,  too,  was  generally  very  strong, 
and  he  supported  it  by  his  generosity.  He  had  recom- 
mended, you  remember,  to  Strahan,  the  printer,  a  poor 
boy  from  the  country  as  an  apprentice.  Johnson,  having 
inquired  after  him,  said,  **  Mr.  Strahan,  let  me  have  five 
guineas  on  account,  and  I  '11  give  this  boy  one.  Nay,  if 
a  man  recommends  a  boy,  and  does  nothing  for  him,  it 
is  sad  work.  Call  him  down."  The  boy  made  his  ap- 
pearance, when  Johnson  gave  him  a  guinea,  and  some 
good  advice. 

His  charity  and  benevolence  were  unintermitted,  and 
always  beyond  his  means.  Being  asked  by  a  lady  why 
he  so  constantly  gave  money  to  beggars,  he  replied  with 
great  feeling,  "  Madam,  to  enable  them  to  beg  on."  It 
was  a  common  thing  for  him  to  empty  his  pockets  when 
surrounded  by  beggars.  We  know  how  he  took  on  his 
back  the  poor  street-walker  whom  he  found  prostrate  in 
the  street,  carried  her  to  his  home,  and  procured  physician 
and  nurse  for  her,  and  honorable  employment.  He  filled 
up  his  house  with  a  strange  assortment  of  pensioners  and 
dependents.  Poor  blincT  Mrs.  Williams,  the  daughter  of 
a  Welsh  physician ;  Levett,  "  an  odd  little  man  who  prac- 
ticed medicine  among  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  and  often 
received  his  fees  in  liquor ; "  Mrs.  Desmoulins  and  her 
daughter,  "  who  had  no  other  claim  upon  his  benevolence 
than  the  service  which  that  lady's  father,  Dr.  Swinfen, 
had  rendered  to  Johnson  in  a  professional  capacity  in 
his  youth  ; "  and  Francis  Barber,  his  negi-o  servant,  were 
among  the  inmates  of  his  house. 

His  prodigious  pride  is  exhibited  in  his  famous  letter 
to  Lord  Chesterfield,  —  familiar  to  every  reader,  —  in 
which  he  rejects  the  condescensions  of  the  elegant  would- 
be  patron,  and  resents  the  seven  years  of  cold  indiffer- 
ence with  which  he  had  been  treated.  Carlyle,  in  his 
essay,  characterizes  it  as  "that  far-famed  Blast  of  Doom." 

His  capacity  to  acquire,  and  his  ability  to  work,  under 
5 


66  CHARACTERISTICS. 

pressure,  were  extraordinary.  He  struck  out  at  a  single 
heat  one  hundred  lines  of  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes. 
He  wrote  forty-eight  of  the  printed  octavo  pages  of  his 
celebrated  Life  of  Savage  at  a  sitting.  He  wrote  out 
whole  Parliamentary  debates  from  scanty  notes  furnished 
him  by  persons  appointed  to  attend  them;  sometimes 
having  nothing  more  communicated  to  him  than  the  names 
of  the  several  speakers,  and  the  part  they  had  taken  in 
the  debate.  Sayings  of  his,  dropped  in  casual  conversa- 
tion, about  comparatively  unimportant  things,  will  live  as 
long  as  the  language  in  which  they  were  spoken.  Wit- 
ness his  reply,  familiar  to  all  the  world,  when  asked,  at 
the  sale  of  Thrale's  brewery,  the  value  of  the  property  to 
be  disposed  of :  "  We  are  not  here,"  he  said,  "  to  sell  a 
parcel  of  boilers  and  vats,  but  the  potentiality  of  growing 
rich  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice."  Who,  but  Johnson, 
in  his  most  comfortable  and  self-satisfied  mood,  could 
have  said  it  ? 

Having  asked  Langton  if  his  father  and  mother  had 
sat  for  their  pictures,  and  being  told  that  they  had  opposed 
it,  he  said,  "  Sir,  among  the  anfractuosities  of  the  human 
mind,  I  know  not  if  it  may  not  be  one  that  there  is  a  su- 
perstitious reluctance  to  sit  for  a  picture." 

On  one  occasion  the  talk  had  run  upon  fable-writing, 
and  Goldsmith  observed  that  in  most  fables  the  animals 
seldom  talk  in  character.  "  For  instance,"  said  he,  "  the 
fable  of  the  little  fishes,  who  petitioned  Jupiter  to  be 
changed  into  birds  —  the  skill  consists  in  making  them 
talk  like  little  fishes."  This  struck  Johnson  as  very  ridic- 
ulous talk,  and  he  began  to  roll  himself  about  and  to 
shake  with  laughter ;  when  Goldsmith  broke  in  upon  his 
entertainment  by  saying,  "  Why,  Doctor  Johnson,  this  is 
not  so  easy  as  you  seem  to  think  ;  for  if  you  were  to  make 
little  fishes  talk,  they  would  talk  like  whales." 

An  American  lady  was  so  charmed  at  one  time  by 
his   conversation  that  she    could    not  help  exclaiming. 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  6/ 

"  How  he  does  talk !  Every  sentence  is  an  essay."  Cer- 
tainly very  many  of  his  sentences  that  have  been  reported 
to  us  are  very  essences  of  essays.  Short  paragraphs  are 
sometimes  whole  treatises,  —  full  of  wit,  wisdom,  logic, 
and  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

A  gentleman  who  had  been  very  unhappy  in  marriage, 
married  immediately  after  his  wife  died ;  Johnson  said, 
"  It  was  the  triumph  of  hope  over  experience." 

Reynolds  having  observed  that  the  real  character  of  a 
man  was  found  out  by  his  amusements,  Johnson  added, 
"Yes,  sir ;  no  man  is  .a  hypocrite  in  his  pleasures." 

A  friend  mentioned  to  him  that  old  Mr.  Sheridan  com- 
plained of  the  ingratitude  of  Mr.  Wedderburne  and  Gen- 
eral Fraser,  who  were  mjuch  obliged  to  him  when  they 
were  young  Scotchmen  entering  upon  life  in  London. 
Johnson  said,  "  Why,  sir,  a  man  is  very  apt  to  complain 
of  the  ingratitude  of  those  who  have  risen  far  above  him. 
A  man  when  he  gets  into  a  higher  sphere,  into  other  hab- 
its of  life,  cannot  keep  up  all  his  former  connexions. 
Then,  sir,  those  who  knew  him  formerly  upon  a  level  with 
themselves,  may  think  that  they  ought  still  to  be  treated 
as  on  a  level,  which  cannot  be ;  and  an  acquaintance  in 
a  former  situation  may  bring  out  things  which  it  would  be 
very  disagreeable  to  have  mentioned  before  higher  com- 
pany, though,  perhaps  every  body  knows  of  them." 

"  It  is  a  very  good  custom,"  he  said  once,  *'  to  keep  a 
journal  for  a  man's  own  use ;  he  may  write  upon  a  card 
a  day  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  written,  after  he  has  had 
experience  of  life.  At  first  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be 
written,  because  there  is  a  great  deal  of  novelty;  but 
when  once  a  man  has  settled  his  opinions,  there  is  sel- 
dom much  to  be  set  down." 

On  one  occasion  he  said,  "  There  is  nothing  more 
likely  to  betray  a  man  into  absurdity,  than  condescension ; 
when  he  seems  to  suppose  his  understanding  too  powerful 
for  his  company." 


68  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Of  a  certain  lord  who  was  something  of  a  speaker,  he 
said,  "  I  never  heard  any  thing  from  him  in  company  that 
was  at  all  striking;  and  depend  upon  it,  sir,  it  is  when 
you  come  close  to  a  man  in  conversation,  that  you  dis- 
cover what  his  real  abilities  are  j  to  make  a  speech  in  a 
public  assembly  is  a  knack." 

He  observed,  "  There  is  a  wicked  inclination  in  most 
people  to  suppose  an  old  man  decayed  in  his  intellects. 
If  a  young  or  middle-aged  man,  when  leaving  a  company, 
does  not  recollect  where  he  laid  his  hat,  it  is  nothing ; 
but  if  the  same  inattention  is  discovered  in  an  old  man, 
people  will  shrug  up  their  shoulders,  and  say,  '  his  mem- 
ory is  going.' " 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  by  which  a  man  exas- 
perates most  people  more,  than  by  displaying  a  superior 
ability  of  brilliancy  in  conversation.  They  seem  pleased 
at  the  time  ;  but  their  envy  makes  them  curse  him  at  their 
hearts." 

"  Our  religion  is  in  a  book,"  he  said  ;  "  we  have  an 
order  of  men  whose  duty  it  is  to  teach  it;  we  have  one 
day  in  the  week  set  apart  for  it,  and  this  is  in  general 
pretty  well  observed :  yet  ask  the  first  ten  gross  men  you 
meet,  and  hear  what  they  can  tell  you  of  their  religion." 

An  easy  life  had  been  imputed  to  clerg}'men.  Johnson 
said,  "  Sir,  the  life  of  a  parson,  of  a  conscientious  clergy- 
man, is  not  easy.  I  have  always  considered  a  clergyman 
as  the  father  of  a  larger  family  than  he  is  able  to  main- 
tain. I  would  rather  have  chancery  suits  upon  my  hands 
than  the  cure  of  souls.  No,  sir,  I  do  not  envy  a  clergy- 
man's life  as  an  easy  life,  nor  do  I  envy  the  clergyman 
who  makes  it  an  easy  life." 

No  saint,  we  are  assured,  in  the  course  of  his  religious 
warfare,  was  more  sensible  of  the  unhappy  failure  of 
pious  resolves,  than  Johnson.  He  said  one  day,  talking 
to  an  acquaintance  on  this  subject,  "  Sir,  hell  is  paved 
with  good  intentions." 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  69 

"  He  that  encroaches  on  another's  dignity,"  he  once 
said,  '^  puts  himself  in  his  power ;  he  is  either  repelled 
with  helpless  indignity,  or  endured  by  clemency  and  con- 
descension." 

You  remember  his  refutation  of  Bishop  Berkeley's  in- 
genious sophistry  to  prove  the  non-existence  of  matter, 
and  that  every  thing  in  the  universe  is  merely  ideal.  It 
was  observed  that  though  we  are  satisfied  the  doctrine  is 
not  true,  it  is  impossible  to  refute  it.  Johnson  answered, 
striking  his  foot  with  mighty  force  against  a  large  stone, 
till  he  rebounded  from  it,  "  I  refute  it  thus." 

Talking  of  a  court-martial  that  was  sitting  upon  a  very 
momentous  public  occasion,  he  expressed  much  doubt  of 
an  enlightened  decision  ;  and  said,  that  "  perhaps  there 
was  not  a  member  of  it,  who  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
life,  had  ever  spent  an  hour  by  himself  in  balancing  prob- 
abilities." 

Dr.  Taylor  commended  a  physician,  and  said,  '"  I  fight 
many  battles  for  him,  as  many  people  in  the  country  dis- 
like him."  Johnson  replied,  "  But  you  should  consider, 
sir,  that  by  every  one  of  your  victories  he  is  a  loser ;  for 
every  man  of  whom  you  get  the  better  will  be  very  angry, 
and  resolve  not  to  employ  him;  whereas  if  people  get 
the  better  of  you  in  argument  about  him,  they  '11  think, 
*We  '11  send  for  the  doctor,  nevertheless.'  " 

In  reply  to  the  observation  that  a  certain  gentleman 
had  remained  silent  the  whole  evening  in  the  midst  of  a 
very  brilliant  and  learned  society,  Johnson  said,  "  Sir,  the 
conversation  overflowed,  and  drowned  him." 

Being  solicited  to  compose  a  funeral  sermon  for  the 
daughter  of  a  tradesman,  he  naturally  inquired  into  the 
character  of  the  deceased ;  and  being  told  that  she  was 
remarkable  for  her  humility  and  condescension  to  infe- 
riors, he  observed  that  those  were  very  laudable  qualities, 
but  it  might  not  be  so  easy  to  discover  who  the  lady's 
inferiors  were. 


70  CHARACTERISTICS.       . 

The  question,  whether  drinking  improved  conversation 
and  benevolence,  vi^as  discussed.  Sir  Joshua  maintained 
it  did.  Johnson  said,  "  No,  sir ;  before  dinner,  men  meet 
v^ith  great  inequality  of  understanding ;  and  those  who 
are  conscious  of  their  inferiority  have  the  modesty  not 
to  talk.  When  they  have  drunk  wine,  every  man  feels 
himself  happy,  and  loses  that  modesty,  and  grows  impu- 
dent and  vociferous ;  but  he  is  not  improved :  he  is  only 
not  sensible  of  his  defects." 

A  pension  he  defined  in  his  Dictionary  to  be,  *'  An  al- 
lowance made  to  any  one  without  an  equivalent.  In  Eng- 
land it  is  generally  understood  to  mean  pay  given  to  a 
state-hireling  for  treason  to  his  countr}^"  After  such  a 
definition,  it  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered,  naturally  observes 
the  critic,  that  Johnson  paused,  and  felt  some  "  com- 
punctious visitings  "  before  he  accepted  a  pension  him- 
self. 

He  loved  a  good  hater.  "  Dr.  Bathurst,"  he  said, 
"  was  a  man  to  my  heart's  content :  he  hated  a  fool,  and 
he  hated  a  rogue,  and  he  hated  a  Whig;  he  was  a  very 
good  hater." 

Every  one  knows  the  violence  of  his  prejudices  against 
the  Whigs,  the  Americans,  the  Scotch,  and  the  Presby- 
terians. He  meant  to  say  a  very  severe  thing  when  he 
called  Burke  a  "  bottomless  Whig,"  and  generally  spoke 
of  Whigs  as  rascals,  and  maintained  that  the  first  Whig 
was  the  devil.  Hating  Walpole  and  the  Whig  excise  act, 
he  defines  Excise,  "  A  hateful  tax  levied  upon  commodi- 
ties, and  adjudged,  not  by  the  common  judges  of  prop- 
erty, but  by  wretches  hired  by  those  to  whom  excise  is 
paid."  He  said,  "  I  am  willing  to  love  all  mankind,  except 
an  American  ; "  and  his  "  inflammable  corruption  burst- 
ing into  horrid  fire,  he  breathed  out  threatenings  and 
slaughter ; "  calling  them  "  rascals,  robbers,  pira.tes ;  " 
and  exclaiming,  "  he  'd  burn  and  destroy  them."  Miss 
Seward,  looking  at  him  with  mild  but  steady  astonish- 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  71 

ment,  said,  "  Sir,  this  is  an  instance  that  we  are  always 
most  violent  against  those  whom  we  have  injured."  He 
was  irritated  still  more  by  this  delicate  and  keen  reproach  ; 
and  roared  out  another  tremendous  volley,  which  one 
might  fancy,  imagined  Boswell,  could  be  heard  across  the 
Atlantic.  The  inn  that  the  Doctor  and  Boswell  once 
stayed  at  for  a  while  was  wretched.  "  Let  us  see  now," 
said  Boswell,  "  how  we  "should  describe  it."  '^Describe 
it,  sir,"  said  Johnson.  "  Why,  it  was  so  bad  that  Bos- 
well wished  to  be  in  Scotland."  "  Scotland  is  a  very  vile 
country,  to  be  sure,  sir,"  said  Johnson  to  Strahan,  who 
was  also  a  Scotchman.  "  Well,  sir,"  replied  the  latter, 
somewhat  mortified,  "  God  made  it."  "  Certainly  he  did," 
answered  Johnson,  "  but  we  must  remember  that  he  made 
it  for  Scotchmen,  and  comparisons  are  odious,  Mr.  Stra- 
han j  but  God  made  hell."  Oats  he  defines,  in  his  Dic- 
tionary, "  A  grain  which  in  England  is  generally  given  to 
horses,  but  in  Scotland  supports  the  people."  "  Yes," 
observed  Lord  Elibank,  when  he  heard  the  offensive  defi- 
nition, "  and  where  will  you  find  such  horses  and  such 
men  ? "  He  would  not  allow  Scotland  to  derive  any 
credit  from  Lord  Mansfield,  for  he  was  educated  in  Eng- 
land. "  Much,"  said  he,  "  may  be  made  of  a  Scotchman 
if  he  be  caught  young."  But  we  must  say  that  we  think 
that  he  was  bigger  in  his  bigotries  than  in  any  thing  else. 
Who  but  "  that  majestic  teacher  of  moral  and  religious 
wisdom "  could  have  declined  to  hear  Dr.  Robertson 
preach,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  "  would  not  be 
seen  in  a  Presbyterian  church  "  ?  One  of  the  tall  steeples 
in  Edinburgh,  which  he  was  told  was  in  danger,  he  wished 
not  to  be  taken  down  ;  "  for,"  said  he,  "  it  may  fall  on 
some  of  the  posterity  of  John  Knox ;  and  no  great  mat- 
ter." Like  the  detested  and  infamous  Jeffreys,  he  could 
"  smell  a  Presbyterian  forty  miles." 

Not  long  before  his  death,  Johnson  applied  to  Langton 
for  spiritual  advice.     "  I  desired  him,"  he  said,  *'  to  tell 


72  CHARACTERISTICS. 

me  sincerely  in  what  he  thought  my  life  was  faulty." 
Langton  wrote  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  certain  texts  rec- 
ommending Christian  charity ;  and  explained,  upon  in- 
quiry, that  he  was  pointing  at  Johnson's  violence  of  vitu- 
peration and  contradiction.  The  old  Doctor  began  by 
thanking  him  earnestly  for  his  kindness  ;  but  gradually 
waxed  savage,  and  asked  Langton,  in  a  loud  and  angry 
tone,  "  What  is  your  drift,  sir  ?  "  He  complained  of  the 
well-meant  advice,  to  Boswell,  with  a  sense  that  he  had 
been  unjustly  treated.  It  was  a  scene  for  a  comedy,  as 
Reynolds  observed,  to  see  a  penitent  get  into  a  passion 
and  belabor  his  confessor. 

Dozing  one  day  in  a  railway  car,  in  the  State  of  Min- 
nesota, there  appeared  before  us,  suddenly,  in  a  seat  at 
the  other  end  of  the  carriage,  a  personage  who  seemed 
to  be  in  every  way  familiar.  His  face  was  toward  us, 
and  he  was  busily  engaged  conversing  with  the  man  in 
the  seat  before  him.  The  figure  was  enormous,  and  very 
remarkable.  It  filled  nearly  the  whole  seat,  so  gigantic 
it  appeared.  It  stooped  horribly ;  the  back  was  round  ; 
the  mouth  was  continually  opening  and  shutting,  as  if  the 
man  were  chewing  something ;  he  twisted  his  fingers  ;  he 
twirled  his  hands  ;  he  see-sawed  backward  and  forward ; 
his  feet  seemed  never  for  a  moment  quiet ;  his  whole 
great  person  looked  often  as  if  it  were  going  to  roll  itself 
quite  voluntarily  from  his  seat  to  the  floor.  Now  and 
then  he  rubbed  his  knee  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  chew- 
ing his  cud,  and  blowing  out  his  breath  like  a  whale.  His 
face  was  disfigured  by  scars.  His  eyes  were  near,  and 
otherwise  imperfect.  His  head  shook  with  a  kind  of 
motion  like  the  effect  of  a  palsy.  He  wore  a  bushy  gray 
wig,  and  a  brown  coat,  with  metal  buttons,  and  enor- 
mous pockets.  Black  worsted  stockings  and  silver  buckles 
were  conspicuous.  A  huge  English  oak-stick  was  be- 
tween his  knees.  He  talked  in  a  bow-wow  way.  He 
laughed  like  a  rhinoceros.    We  felt  sure  the  remarkable 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON.  73 

man  was  Doctor  Johnson  ;  so  sure,  that  we  determined  to 
approach  him,  whatever  the  risk.  Respectfully,  reveren- 
tially calling  him  by  name,  and  apologizing  for  the  in- 
trusion, he  said,  with  a  sort  of  smile  extending  over  his 
now  more  familiar  face,  "  No  intrusion,  sir.  Your  ap- 
proach is  both  natural  and  welcome.  Let  me  introduce 
you  to  my  friend  Boswell.  He  is  a  Scotchman,  sir,  but 
he  won't  hurt  you."  In  the  act  of  extending  a  hand  to 
Bozzy,  and  laughing  at  so  amusing  an  exhibition  of  one 
of  the  Doctor's  characteristic  prejudices,  the  interview 
ended. 

Cuthbert  Shaw,  in  his'  poem  entitled  The  Race,  in  which 
he  whimsically  made  the  living  poets  of  England  contend 
for  pre-eminence  of  fame  by  running,  gives  an  animated 
description  of  Johnson.  We  have  only  room  for  eight 
lines  of  it :  — 

"  To  view  him,  porters  with  their  loads  would  rest, 
And  babes  cling  frighted  to  the  nurse's  breast. 
With  looks  convulsed,  he  roars  in  pompous  strain, 
And,  like  an  angry  lion,  shakes  his  mane. 
The  Nine,  with  terror  struck,  who  ne'er  had  seen 
Aught  human  with  so  terrible  a  mien, 
Debating  whether  they  should  stay  or  run. 
Virtue  steps  forth,  and  claims  him  for  her  son." 


IV. 
LORD   MACAULAY. 

AS  A  READER. 

Perhaps  no  one  ever  existed  who  was  a  greedier  reader 
or  who  had  better  mental  digestion  than  Lord  Macaulay. 
From  his  infancy,  he  was  an  insatiable  and  omnivorous 
devourer  of  books.  His  nephew,  in  his  delightful  biog- 
raphy of  him,  tells  us,  that  from  the  time  he  was  three 
years  old  he  read  incessantly,  for  the  most  part  lying  on 
the  rug  before  the  fire,  with  his  book  in  one  hand,  and  a 
piece  of  bread  and  butter  in  the  other.  A  woman  who 
lived  in  the  house  as  a  parlor-maid,  told  how  he  used  to 
sit  in  his  nankeen  frock,  perched  on  the  table  by  her  as 
she  was  cleaning  the  plate,  expounding  to  her  out  of  a 
volume  as  big  as  himself.  Hannah  More,  it  is  said,  was 
fond  of  relating  how  she  called  at  Mr.  Macaulay's,  and 
was  met  by  a  fair,  pretty,  slight  child,  about  four  years  of 
age,  with  abundance  of  light  hair,  who  came  to  the  front- 
door to  receive  her,  and  tell  her  that  his  parents  were  out, 
but  that  if  she  would  be  good  enough  to  come  in  he  would 
bring  her  a  glass  of  old  spirits  ;  a  proposition  which 
greatly  startled  the  good  lady,  who  had  never  aspired  be- 
yond cowslip-wine.  When  questioned  as  to  what  he  knew 
about  old  spirits,  he  could  only  say  that  Robinson  Crusoe 
often  had  some.  In  childhood  he  was  permitted  to  make 
frequent  and  long  visits  to  the  Misses  More,  and  to  Han- 
nah especially  he  was  greatly  indebted  for  valuable  sug- 
gestions and  direction  in  his  reading.  When  he  was  six 
years  old,  she  writes  to  him :    "  Though  you  are  a  little 


LORD  MACAULAY.  75 

boy  now,  you  will  one  day,  if  it  please  God,  be  a  man  ; 
but  long  before  you  are  a  man  I  hope  you  will  be  a 
scholar.  I  therefore  wish  you  to  purchase  such  books  as 
will  be  useful  and  agreeable  to  you  then,  and  that  you 
employ  this  very  small  sum  in  laying  a  little  tiny  corner- 
stone for  your  future  library."  A  year  or  two  afterward, 
she  thanks  him  for  his  "  two  letters,  so  neat  and  free  from 
blots.  By  this  obvious  improvement,  you  have  entitled 
yourself  to  another  book.  You  must  go  to  Hatchard's 
and  choose.  I  think  we  have  nearly  exhausted  the  epics. 
What  say  you  to  a  little  good  prose  ?  Johnson's  Hebrides, 
or  Walton's  Lives,  unless  you  would  like  a  neat  edition 
of  Cowper's  Poems,  or  Paradise  Lost,  for  your  own  eat- 
ing ?  In  any  case,  choose  something  which  you  do  not 
possess.  I  want  you  to  become  a  complete  Frenchman, 
that  I  may  give  you  Racine,  the  only  dramatic  poet  I 
know  in  any  modern  language  that  is  perfectly  pure  and 
good." 

With  such  intelligent  and  encouraging  associations,  and 
with  such  healthy  mental  appetites,  he  grew  every  day  in 
intellectual  capacity.  While  yet  a  boy,  at  school  at  Cam- 
bridge, he  attracted  the  attention  of  Dean  Milner,  the 
eminent  President  of  Queen's  College,  then  at  the  sum- 
mit of  its  celebrity.  The  Dean  "  recognized  the  promise 
of  the  boy,  and  entertained  him  at  his  college  residence 
on  terms  of  friendliness  and  almost  equality."  After  one 
of  these  visits,  he  writes  to  Macaulay's  father  :  "  Your 
lad  is  a  fine  fellow.  He  shall  stand  before  kings.  He 
shall  not  stand  before  mean  men."  In  his  thirteenth 
year,  "  the  boy "  wrote  to  his  mother  :  "  The  books 
which  I  am  at  present  employed  in  reading  to  myself 
are,  in  English,  Plutarch's  Lives,  and  Milner's  Ecclesi- 
astical History;  in  French,  Fenelon's  Dialogues  of  the 
Dead." 

"The  secret  of  his  immense  acquirements,"  says  Tre- 
velyan,  "  lay  in  two  invaluable  gifts  of  Nature  —  an  un- 


J6  CHARACTERISTICS. 

erring  memory,  and  the  capacity  for  taking  m  at  a  glance 
the  contents  of  a  printed  page.  During  the  first  part  of 
his  life,  he  remembered  whatever  caught  his  fancy,  with- 
out going  through  the  process  of  consciously  getting  it 
by  heart.  As  a  child,  he  accompanied  his  father  on  an 
afternoon  call,  and  found  on  the  table  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  which  he  had  never  before  met  with.  He  kept 
himself  quiet  with  his  prize  while  the  elders  were  talking, 
and  on  his  return  home  sat  down  upon  his  mother's  bed, 
and  repeated  to  her  as  many  cantos  as  she  had  the  pa- 
tience or  the  strength  to  listen  to.  At  one  period  of  his 
life  he  was  known  to  say  that,  if  by  some  miracle  of  van- 
dalism all  copies  of  Paradise  Lost  and  the  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress were  destroyed  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  he  would 
undertake  to  reproduce  them  both  from  recollection  when- 
ever a  revival  of  learning  came."  Certain  provincial 
newspaper  poems,  which  he  happened  to  look  once 
through,  while  waiting  in  a  coffee-room  for  a  post-chaise, 
and  never  gave  a  thought  to  for  forty  years,  "  at  the  end 
of  that  time  he  repeated  them  both  without  missing,  or, 
as  far  as  he  knew,  changing  a  single  word."  During  his 
last  years  he  had  a  habit,  while  he  was  dressing  in  the 
morning,  of  learning  by  heart  one  of  Martial's  epigrams, 
of  which  he  was  very  fond. 

An  illustration  of  Macaulay's  preternatural  quickness 
is  given  by  Caroline  Fox  in  her  Journal.  A  friend  of  his 
traveling  with  him  was  reading  a  new  book  which  Ma- 
caulay  had  not  seen.  The  friend  grew  weary  and  in- 
dulged in  a  ten  minutes'  sleep ;  on  awaking,  they  resumed 
their  talk,  which  fell  on  topics  apropos  of  the  book,  when 
Macaulay  was  full  of  quotations,  judgments  and  criticisms. 
"But  I  thought  you  had  not  seen  it,"  said  his  friend. 
"  Oh,  yes  ;  when  you  were  asleep  I  looked  at  it ; "  and  it 
seemed  as  if  no  comer  of  it  were  unexplored. 

"  Many  Londoners  —  not  all  —  (said  Thackeray)  have 
seen  the  British  Museum  Library.  ...  I  have  (he  says) 


LORD  MACAULAY.  7/ 

seen  all  sorts  of  domes  of  Peters  and  Pauls,  Sophia,  Pan- 
theon,—  what  not?  —  and  have  been  struck  by  none  of 
them  as  much  as  by  that  catholic  dome  in  Bloomsbury, 
under  which  one  million  volumes  are  housed.  .  .  .  Under 
the  dome  which  held  Macaulay's  brain,  and  from  which 
his  solemn  eyes  looked  out  on  the  world,  what  a  vast, 
brilliant,  and  wonderful  store  of  learning  was  ranged! 
what  strange  lore  would  he  not  fetch  for  you  at  your  bid- 
ding !  A  volume  of  law  or  history,  a  book  of  poetry 
familiar  or  forgotten  (except  by  himself,  who  forgot  noth- 
ing), a  novel  ever  so  old,  and  he  had  it  at  hand." 

He  was  a  voracious  novel-reader,  and  read  all  the  ro- 
mances, good  and  bad,  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  He 
was  so  familiar  with  Sir  Charles  Grandison  that  he  thought 
it  probable  that  he  could  rewrite  it  from  memory.  On 
the  last  page  of  a  trashy  sentimental  novel  read  by  him, 
'*  there  appears  an  elaborate  computation  of  the  number 
of  fainting-fits  that  occur  in  the  course  of  the  five  vol- 
umes." 

"After  all,"  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  Ellis,  soon  after  he 
arrived  in  India,  "  the  best  rule  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
as  in  London  itself,  is  to  be  independent  of  other  men's 
minds.  My  power  of  finding  amusement  without  com- 
panions was  pretty  well  tried  on  my  voyage.  I  read  in- 
satiably j  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  Virgil,  Horace,  Caesar's 
Commentaries,  Bacon,  (De  Augmentis,)  Dante,  Petrarch, 
Ariosto,  Tasso,  Don  Quixote,  Gibbon's  Rome,  Mill's 
India,  all  the  seventy  volumes  of  Voltaire,  Sismondi's 
History  of  France,  and  the  seven  thick  folios  of  the  Bio- 
graphia  Britannica."  In  a  letter  written  to  his  sister 
Margaret,  soon  after,  he  speaks  of  his  "  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge," his  "  passion  for  holding  converse  with  the  greatest 
minds  of  all  ages  and  nations,"  his  "  power  of  forgetting 
what  surrounded  him,"  and  of  "  living  with  the  past,  the 
future,  the  distant,  and  the  unreal.  Books  are  becoming 
every  thing  to  me,"  he  says.     "  If  I  had  at  this  moment 


78  CHARACTERISTICS. 

my  choice  of  life,  I  would  bury  myself  in  one  of  those 
immense  libraries  that  we  saw  together  at  the  universities, 
and  never  pass  a  waking  hour  without  a  book  before  me." 
Conspicuous  in  his  letters  from  India  to  Mr.  Napier,  the 
editor  of   the  Edinburgh  Review,  were  his  requests  for 
books,  books.     He  writes  to  Ellis  from  Calcutta:    "I 
have  just  finished  a  second  reading  of  Sophocles.     I  am 
now  deep  in  Plato,  and  intend  to  go  right  through  all  his 
works."    In  another  letter  to  the  same  person,  soon  after, 
he  says  :    "  During  the  last  thirteen  months  I  have  read 
^schylus  twice  ;  Sophocles  twice  ;  Euripides  once  ;  Pin- 
dar twice  ;  Callimachus ;  Apollonius  Rhodius  ;  Quintus 
Calaber ;    Theocritus   twice  ;    Herodotus  ;    Thucydides  ; 
almost  all  Xenophon's  works ;  almost  all  Plato ;  Aris- 
totle's Politics,  and  a  good  deal  of  his  Organon,  besides 
dipping  elsewhere  in  him  ;  the  whole  of  Plutarch's  Lives ; 
about  half  of  Lucian ;  two  or  three  books  of  Athenaeus ; 
Plautus  twice ;  Terence  twice ;  Lucretius  twice ;  Catul- 
lus ;  Tibullus  ;  Propertius  ;  Lucan  ;  Statins  ;  Silius  Ital- 
icus;  Livy;  Velleius  Paterculus ;  Sallustj  Caesar;   and, 
lastly,  Cicero.     I  have,  indeed,  still  a  little  of  Cicero  left ; 
but  I  shall  finish  him  in  a  few  days.     I  am  now  deep  in 
Aristophanes  and  Lucian."     A  little  later,  he  writes  to 
Ellis  again :  "  My  mornings,  from  five  to  nine,  are  quite 
my  own.     I  still  give  them  to  ancient  literature.     I  have 
read  Aristophanes  twice  through  since  Christmas,  and 
have  also  read  Herodotus  and  Thucydides  again.     I  got 
into  a  way  last  year  of  reading  a  Greek  play  every  Sun- 
day.    I  began  on  Sunday,  the  i8th  of  October,  with  the 
Prometheus,  and  next  Sunday  I  shall  finish  with  the  Cy- 
clops of  Euripides.  ...  I  have  read,  as  one  does  read 
such  stuff,  Valerius  Maximus,  Annaeus  Florus,  Lucius  Am- 
pelius,  and  Aurelius  Victor.     I  have  also  gone  through 
Phaedrus.     I  am  now  better  employed.     I  am  deep  in  the 
Annals  of  Tacitus,  and  I  am  at  the  same  time  reading 
Seutonius."     With  plenty  of  acute  criticism  following 


LORD   MACAULAY.  79 

these  dry  lists  of  classical  literature,  showing  how  per- 
fectly saturated  he  was  with  it.  In  another  letter  to  Ellis, 
two  months  later,  he  says :  "  I  read  in  the  evenings  a 
great  deal  of  English,  French,  and  Italian,  and  a  little 
Spanish.  I  have  picked  up  Portuguese  enough  to  read 
Camoens  with  care,  and  I  want  no  more."  A  little  later, 
he  says  :  "  My  classical  studies  go  on  vigorously.  I  have 
read  Demosthenes  twice  —  I  need  not  say  with  what  de- 
light and  admiration.  I  am  now  deep  in  Isocrates  ;  and 
from  him  I  shall  pass  to  Lysias.  I  have  finished  Dio- 
dorus  Siculus  at  last,  after  dawdling  over  him  at  odd 
times  ever  since  last  March.  He  is  a  stupid,  credulous, 
prosing  old  ass ;  yet  I  heartily  wish  that  we  had  a  good 
deal  more  of  him."  And  so  he  goes  on,  writing  familiarly 
of  Arrian,  Quintus  Curtius,  Longus,  Xenophon,  Helio- 
dorus,  Achilles  Tatius,  Theocritus,  Pliny,  Marcellinus, 
Quintilian,  Lucan,  etc.,  to  the  bottom  of  his  sheet. 

In  November,  1836,  (he  was  then  thirty-six  years  old,) 
in  a  letter  to  Napier,  he  says  :  "  In  little  more  than  a  year 
I  shall  be  embarking  for  England,  and  I  am  determined 
to  employ  the  four  months  of  my  voyage  in  mastering 
the  German  language.  I  should  be  much  obliged  to  you 
to  send  me  out,  as  early  as  you  can,  so  that  they  may  be 
certain  to  arrive  in  time,  the  best  grammar  and  the  best 
dictionary  that  can  be  procured ;  a  German  Bible ;  Schil- 
ler's works;  Goethe's  works;  and  Niebuhr's  History, 
both  in  the  orginal  and  in  the  translation.  My  way  of 
learning  a  language  is  always  to  begin  with  the  Bible, 
which  I  can  read  without  a  dictionary.  After  a  few  days 
passed  in  this  way,  I  am  master  of  all  the  common  par- 
ticles, the  common  rules  of  syntax,  and  a  pretty  large 
vocabulary.  Then  I  fall  on  some  good  classical  work. 
It  was  in  this  way  that  I  learned  both  Spanish  and  Por- 
tuguese, and  I  shall  try  the  same  course  with  German." 

His  journals,  after  his  return  from  India,  are  full  of 
notes  of  his  reading.     His  first  prose  letter  to  his  little 


80  CHARACTERISTICS. 

niece,  Margaret,  contains  this  sentence :  "  If  any  body 
would  make  me  the  greatest  king  that  ever  Hved,  with 
palaces,  and  gardens,  and  fine  dinners,  and  wine,  and 
coaches,  and  beautiful  clothes,  and  hundreds  of  servants, 
on  condition  that  I  would  not  read  books,  I  would  not 
be  a  king.  I  would  rather  be  a  poor  man  in  a  garret, 
with  plenty  of  books,  than  a  king  who  did  not  love  read- 
ing." When  he  was  a  little  past  fifty,  he  wrote  to  his  old 
friend  Ellis  :  "  I  do  not  think  that  I  ever,  at  Cambridge 
or  India,  did  a  better  day's  work  in  Greek  than  to-day. 
I  have  read  at  one  stretch  fourteen  books  of  the  Odyssey, 
from  the  sixth  to  the  nineteenth,  inclusive.  I  did  it  while 
walking  to  Worcester  and  back."  In  his  journal,  he  says  : 
"  I  was  afraid  to  be  seen  crying  by  the  parties  of  walkers 
that  met  me  as  I  came  back ;  crying  for  Achilles  cutting 
off  his  hair ;  crying  for  Priam  rolling  on  the  ground  in 
the  court-yard  of  his  house  :  mere  imaginary  beings, 
creatures  of  an  old  ballad-maker,  who  died  near  three 
thousand  years  ago."  In  October,  1857,  two  years  before 
his  death,  he  wrote  :  "  I  walked  in  the  portico,  and  learned 
by  heart  the  noble  fourth  act  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 
There  are  four  hundred  lines,  of  which  I  knew  a  hundred 
and  fifty.  I  made  myself  perfect  master  of  the  whole, 
the  prose  letter  included,  in  two  hours."  That  "  invinci- 
ble love  of  reading,"  which  Gibbon  declared  that  he 
would  not  exchange  for  the  treasures  of  India,  was  with 
Macaulay,  says  his  nephew  and  biographer,  "  a  main  ele- 
ment of  happiness  in  one  of  the  happiest  lives  that  has 
ever  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  biographer  to  record."  The 
great  reader  died  in  his  library,  in  his  easy-chair,  in  his 
usual  dress,  with  his  book  open  on  the  table  beside  him. 

AS   A  WRITER. 

When  Macaulay  was  seven  years  old,  he  took  it  into 
his  head  to  write  a  compendium  of  universal  history,  and 
gave,  it  is  stated,  a  tolerably  connected  view  of  the  lead- 


LORD  MACAULAY.  8l 

ing  events  from  the  Creation  to  the  beginning  of  this 
century,  filling  about  a  quire  of  paper.  Before  he  was 
eight  years  old,  he  told  his  mother  that  he  had  been  writ- 
ing a  paper,  to  be  translated  into  Malabar,  to  persuade 
the  people  of  Travancore  to  embrace  the  Christian  re- 
ligion. On  reading  it,  she  found  it  to  contain  "a  very 
clear  idea  of  the  leading  facts  and  doctrines  of  that  relig- 
ion, with  some  strong  arguments  for  its  adoption."  About 
the  same  time,  he  determined  on  writing  a  poem  in  six 
cantos,  which  he  called  The  Battle  of  Cheviot.  After  he 
had  finished  three  of  the  cantos,  of  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  lines  each,  which  he  did  in  a  couple  of  days, 
he  became  tired  of  it.  "  I  make  no  doubt,"  says  his 
mother,  "  he  would  have  finished  his  design,  but  as  he 
was  proceeding  with  it  the  thought  struck  him  of  writing 
an  heroic  poem,  to  be  called  Olaus  the  Great,  or  The  Con- 
quest of  Mona,  in  which,  after  the  manner  of  Virgil,  he 
might  introduce  in  prophetic  song  the  future  fortunes  of 
his  family."  The  clan  to  which  the  bard  belonged  was 
supposed  to  derive  its  name  from  Olaus  Magnus,  King  of 
Norway;  and  so  much  as  remains  of  the  great  family 
epic  is  an  interesting  treasure.  The  specimen  stanzas 
given  by  his  biographer  read  very  well,  considering  the 
childhood  of  the  poet.  He  also  wrote  many  hymns,  which 
Hannah  More  pronounced  to  be  "  quite  extraordinary  for 
such  a  baby."  A  little  later,  he  undertook  the  produc- 
tion of  an  extended  poem,  which  he  entitled  Fingal  :  a 
Poem  in  XH  Books.  It  is  described  as  "  a  vast  pile  of 
blank  verse."  Two  of  the  "  books  "  are  in  a  "  complete 
and  connected  shape,  while  the  rest  of  the  story  is  lost 
amidst  a  labyrinth  of  many  hundred  scattered  lines." 

The  voluminous  writings  of  his  childhood,  we  are  in- 
formed, displayed  the  same  lucidity  of  meaning  and  scru- 
pulous accuracy  in  punctuation  and  the  other  minor  details 
of  the  literary  art,  which  characterize  his  mature  works. 
This  was  a  result,  doubtless,  in  great  part,  of  the  care  in 
6 


82  CHARACTERISTICS. 

his  home  education,  especially  of  the  careful  teaching  and 
good  advice  of  his  mother.  Here  are  a  few  advisory, 
encouraging  sentences  from  one  of  her  letters  to  her  "  dear 
Tom  :  "  "I  know  you  write  with  great  ease  to  yourself, 
and  would  rather  write  ten  poems  than  prune  one ;  btt 
remember,  that  excellence  is  not  attained  at  first.  All 
your  pieces  are  much  mended  after  a  little  reflection,  and 
therefore  take  some  solitary  walks,  and  think  on  each 
separate  thing.  Spare  no  time  or  trouble  to  render  each 
piece  as  perfect  as  you  can,  and  then  leave  the  event 
without  one  anxious  thought.  I  have  always  admired  a 
saying  of  one  of  the  old  heathen  philosophers.  When 
a  friend  was  condoling  with  him  that  he  so  well  deserved 
of  the  gods,  and  yet  that  they  did  not  shower  their  favors 
on  him,  as  on  some  others  less  worthy,  he  answered,  '  I 
will,  however,  continue  to  deserve  well  of  them.'  So  do 
you,  my  dearest." 

Macaulay's  father  disapproved  of  novel-reading.  While 
his  novel-devouring  son  was  yet  a  boy,  he  received  an 
anonymous  letter  addressed  to  him  as  editor  of  the  Chris- 
tian Obser\'er,  "  defending  works  of  fiction,  and  eulogiz- 
ing P^ielding  and  Smollett.  This  he  incautiously  inserted 
in  his  periodical,  and  brought  down  upon  himself  the 
most  violent  objurgations  from  scandalized  contributors, 
one  of  whom  informed  the  public  that  he  had  committed 
the  obnoxious  number  to  the  flames,  and  should  thence- 
forward cease  to  take  in  the  magazine.  The  editor  re- 
plied with  becoming  spirit,  although  by  that  time  he  was 
aware  that  the  communication,  the  insertion  of  which  in 
an  unguarded  moment  had  betrayed  him  into  a  contro- 
versy for  which  he  had  so  little  heart,  had  proceeded  from 
the  pen  of  his  son."  Such,  we  are  assured,  was  young 
Macaulay's  first  appearance  in  print. 

At  twenty-two,  he  became  a  contributor  to  Knight's 
Quarterly  Magazine.  The  boldness  and  freedom  of  some 
of  his  articles  were  the  cause  of  some  not  very  agreeable 


LORD  MACAULAY.  83 

correspondence  with  his  father.  About  that  time  ap- 
peared "  A  Conversation  between  Mr.  Abraham  Cowley 
and  Mr.  John  Milton  touching  the  great  civil  war."  He 
was  now  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  and  his  abilities  were 
becoming  pretty  well  known  to  the  literary  profession. 
Overtures  were  made  to  him  by  Jeffrey,  who  was  then  the 
editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  the  result  was  the 
production  of  the  article  on  Milton.  The  effect  on  the  au- 
thor's reputation,  says  his  nephew  and  biographer,  was 
instantaneous.  Like  Lord  Byron,  he  awoke  one  morning 
and  found  himself  famous.  Murray  declared  that  it 
would  be  worth  the  copyright  of  Childe  Harold  to  have 
Macaulay  on  the  staff  of  the  Quarterly.  The  family 
breakfast-table  in  Bloomsbury  was  covered  with  cards  of 
invitation  to  dinner  from  every  quarter  of  London,  and 
his  father  groaned  in  spirit  over  the  conviction  that  thence- 
fonvard  the  law  would  be  less  to  him  than  ever.  Robert 
Hall,  the  great  preacher,  "  then  well-nigh  worn  out  with 
that  long  disease,  his  life,  was  discovered  lying  on  the 
floor,  employed  in  learning,  by  aid  of  grammar  and  dic- 
tionary, enough  Italian  to  enable  him  to  verify  the  par- 
allel between  Milton  and  Dante."  Jeffrey,  in  acknowl- 
edging the  receipt  of  the  manuscript,  said  :  "  The  more  I 
think,  the  less  I  can  conceive  where  you  picked  up  that 
style." 

His  article  on  Byron,  too,  proved  to  be  very  popular  — 
"one  among  a  thousand  proofs,"  he  said  to  his  sister, 
"of  the  bad  taste  of  the  public."  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine, of  course,  disparaged  him.  It  described  him  "  as  a 
little  splay-footed,  ugly,  dumpling  of  a  fellow,  with  a 
mouth  from  ear  to  ear."  The  review  of  Croker's  Boswell 
made  a  great  sensation.  "  Croker,"  he  wrote  to  Ellis, 
"looks  across  the  House  of  Commons  at  me  with  a  leer 
of  hatred,  which  I  repay  with  a  gracious  smile  of  pity." 
Busy  as  he  was  for  eighteen  months  at  the  Board  of  Trade, 
he  managed  to  supply  the  Edinburgh  Review  with  the 


84  CHARACTERISTICS. 

articles  on  Horace  Walpole,  Lord  Chatham,  and  Lord 
Mahon's  History.  Napier,  then  the  editor  of  the  Edin- 
burgh, called  upon  him  to  tell  him  that  the  sale  of  the 
periodical  was  falling  off,  and  that  his  articles  were  "  the 
only  things  that  kept  the  work  up  at  all."  The  book- 
sellers said  :  "  The  Review  sells,  or  does  not  sell,  accord- 
ing as  there  are,  or  are  not,  articles  by  Macaulay."  Napier 
said  of  his  article  on  Walpole,  that  it  was  the  best  that 
he  had  written.  Macaulay  himself  said  of  it  to  his  sister 
Margaret :  "  Nothing  ever  cost  me  more  pains  than  the 
first  half ;  I  never  wrote  any  thing  so  flowingly  as  the  lat- 
ter half  J  and  I  like  the  latter  half  the  best." 

A  few  months  after  he  arrived  in  India,  he  sent  to  Na- 
pier his  article  on  Mackintosh  ;  and  less  than  two  years 
after  —  being  then  in  his  thirty-sixth  year  —  he  produced 
the  more  famous  article  on  Bacon.  To  Napier  he  says, 
writing  from  Calcutta :  "  At  last,  I  send  you  an  article  of 
interminable  length,  about  Lord  Bacon.  I  hardly  know 
w^hether  it  is  not  too  long  for  an  article  in  a  Review ;  but 
the  subject  is  of  such  vast  extent  that  I  could  easily  have 
made  the  paper  twice  as  long  as  it  is.  ...  I  never  be- 
stowed so  much  care  on  any  thing  that  I  have  written. 
There  is  not  a  sentence  in  the  latter  half  of  the  article 
which  has  not  been  repeatedly  recast.  I  have  no  expec- 
tation that  the  popularity  of  the  article  will  have  any  pro- 
portion to  the  trouble  which  I  have  expended  on  it." 
The  paper  occupied  one  hundred  and  four  of  the  large 
pages  of  the  Review.  Jeffrey  saw  it  before  it  was  printed, 
and  said  of  it  to  Napier :  "  Since  Bacon  himself,  I  do 
not  know  that  there  has  been  any  thing  so  fine."  And 
marvelous  the  essay  seems  when  we  consider  that  it  was 
written  at  the  time  when  he  was  laboriously  and  exhaus- 
tively engaged  upon  *'  a  complete  penal  code  for  a  hun- 
dred millions  of  people,  with  a  commentary  explaining 
and  defending  the  provisions  of  the  text;"  and  in  a 
climate  that  "  destroys  all  the  works  of  man,  with  scarcely 


LORD  MACAULAY.  85 

one  exception.  Steel  rusts ;  razors  lose  their  edge  ;  thread 
decays  ;  clothes  fall  to  pieces  ;  books  moulder  away  and 
drop  out  of  their  bindings  ;  plaster  cracks  ;  timber  rots  ; 
matting  is  in  shreds."  All  the  time,  too,  he  was  devour- 
ing books,  without  number.  The  records  of  his  Calcutta 
life,  written  in  half  a  dozen  languages,  are  scattered,  it  is 
said,  throughout  the  whole  range  of  classical  literature, 
from  Hesiod  to  Macrobius. 

In  1840,  two  years  after  his  return  from  Bengal,  was 
published  his  essay  on  Lord  Clive.  Busy,  as  a  member 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  as  Secretary  of  War,  he 
still  found  time  to  write  essays,  and  plan  his  History. 
When  a  change  of  government  occurred,  he  became  en- 
grossed with  Ills  literary  work.  The  articles  on  Hastings, 
Frederic,  Addison,  etc.,  appeared  in  pretty  quick  succes- 
sion. The  Lays  came  out  about  the  same  time.  The 
terrible  paper  on  Barbre  a  little  later  —  "  shade,  unrelieved 
by  a  gleam  of  light."  Soon  he  was  at  work  on  his  His- 
tory, the  first  two  volumes  of  which  were  published  early 
in  1849.  His  method  of  composition,  as  disclosed  to  us 
by  Trevelyan,  is  interesting.  "As  soon  as  he  had  got 
into  his  head  all  the  information  relating  to  any  partic- 
ular episode  in  his  History,  he  would  sit  down  and  write 
off  the  whole  story  at  a  headlong  pace,  sketching  in  the 
outlines  under  the  genial  and  audacious  impulse  of  a  first 
conception,  and  securing  in  black  and  white  each  idea, 
and  epithet,  and  turn  of  phrase,  as  it  flowed  straight  from 
his  busy  brain  to  his  rapid  fingers.  His  manuscript,  at 
this  stage,  to  the  eyes  of  any  one  but  himself,  appeared 
to  consist  of  column  after  column  of  dashes  and  flourishes, 
in  which  a  straight  line,  with  a  half-formed  letter  at  each 
end  and  another  in  the  middle,  did  duty  for  a  word.  .  .  . 
As  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  rough  draft,  he  began  to 
fill  it  in  at  the  rate  of  six  sides  of  foolscap  every  morning, 
written  in  so  large  a  hand,  and  with  such  a  multitude  of 
erasures,  that  the  whole  six  pages  were,  on  an  average, 


S6  CHARACTERISTICS. 

compressed  into  two  pages  of  print.  This  portion  he 
called  his  'task/  and  he  was  never  quite  easy  unless  he 
completed  it  daily.  .  .  .  He  never  allowed  a  sentence  to 
pass  muster  until  it  was  as  good  as  he  could  make  it.  He 
thought  little  of  recasting  a  chapter  in  order  to  obtain  a 
more  lucid  arrangement,  and  nothing  whatever  of  recon- 
structing a  paragraph  for  the  sake  of  one  happy  stroke 
or  apt  illustration."  He  is  said  to  have  spent  nineteen 
working  days  over  thirty  octavo  pages,  and  ended  by 
humbly  acknowledging  that  the  result  was  not  to  his  mind. 
"  When,  at  length,  after  repeated  revisions,  he  had  satis- 
fied himself  that  his  writing  was  as  good  as  he  could 
make  it,  he  would  submit  it  to  the  severest  of  all  tests, 
that  of  being  read  aloud  to  others.  .  .  .  Whenever  one 
of  his  books  was  passing  through  the  press,  he  extended 
his  indefatigable  industry  and  his  scrupulous  precision  to 
the  minutest  mechanical  drudgery  of  the  literary  calling. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  trouble  that  he  devoted  to  mat- 
ters which  most  authors  are  only  too  glad  to  leave  to  the 
care  and  experience  of  their  publisher.  He  could  not 
rest  until  the  lines  were  level  to  a  hair's  breadth,  and  the 
punctuation  correct  to  a  comma ;  until  every  paragraph 
concluded  with  a  telling  sentence^  and  every  sentence 
flowed  like  running  water." 

During  the  later  years  of  his  life,  Macaulay  sent  arti- 
cles on  Atterbury,  Bunyan,  Goldsmith,  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
William  Pitt,  to  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.  The  last 
of  these,  which  is  little  more  than  seventy  octavo  pages 
in  length,  was  on  hand,  he  tells  us,  for  three  quarters  of 
a  year.  Early  in  November,  1857,  he  writes  :  "  The  plan 
of  a  good  character  of  Pitt  is  forming  in  my  mind ; "  and 
on  the  9th  of  August,  1858  :  "  I  finished  and  sent  off  the 
paper  which  has  caused  me  so  much  trouble.  I  began 
it,  I  see,  in  last  November.  What  a  time  to  have  been 
dawdling  over  such  a  trifle  ! " 

His  fame  was  hardly  earned.     "  Take  at  hazard,"  says 


LORD  MACAULAY.  8/ 

Thackeray,  "  any  three  pages  of  the  Essays  or  History, 
and,  glimmering  below  the  stream  of  the  narrative,  you, 
an  average  reader,  see  one,  two,  three,  a  half  score  allu- 
sions to  other  historic  facts,  characters,  literature,  poetry, 
with  which  you  are  acquainted.  Your  neighbor,  who  has 
his  reading  and  his  little  stock  of  literature  stowed  away 
in  his  mind,  shall  detect  more  points,  allusions,  happy 
touches,  indicating  not  only  the  prodigious  memory  and 
vast  learning  of  this  master,  but  the  wonderful  industry,  ■ 
the  honest,  humble,  previous  toil  of  this  great  scholar. 
He  reads  twenty  books  to  write  a  sentence ;  he  traveled 
a  hundred  miles  to  make  a  line  of  description." 

"  My  task  j  "  "  Did  my  task  ; "  "  My  task,  and  some- 
thing over,"  continually  occur  in  his  diary.  July  28,  1850, 
he  says  :  "  To-morrow  I  shall  begin  to  transcribe  again, 
and  to  polish.  What  trouble  these  few  pages  will  have 
cost  me  !  "  February  6,  1854,  he  says  :  "  I  worked  hard 
at  altering  the  arrangement  of  the  first  three  chapters 
of  the  third  volume.  What  labor  it  is  to  make  a  toler- 
able book,  and  how  little  readers  know  how  much  trouble 
the  ordering  of  parts  has  cost  the  writer !  "  In  1858,  he 
made  this  entry :  "  I  read  my  own  writings  during  some 
hours,  and  was  not  ill-pleased  on  the  whole.  Yet,  alas  ! 
how  short  life,  and  how  long  art !  I  feel  as  if  I  had  just 
begun  to  understand  how  to  write  ;  and  the  probability  is 
that  I  have  very  nearly  done  writing."  The  next  year, 
the  pen  dropped  from  his  hand  for  ever,  leaving  his  great 
"  task  "-work  —  his  History  —  unfinished. 

AS  A  SPEAKER  AND  AS  A  TALKER. 

It  is  as  a  writer  that  Lord  Macaulay  is  famous,  and  it 
is  not  often  that  he  is  thought  of  as  a  speaker  or  as  a 
talker.  Proverbially,  the  world  is  slow  to  credit  any  one 
with  more  than  one  excellence.  The  mighty  Caesar,  even, 
is  rarely  thought  of  but  as  a  great  general. 

"  When  I  praise  an  author,"  Macaulay  used  to  say,  "  I 


88  CHARACTERISTICS. 

love  to  give  a  sample  of  his  wares."  It  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  copy,  as  it  would  be  to  read,  samples  of  Ma- 
caulay's  speeches,  but  there  is  not  room  enough  for  them 
in  one  short  article.  Any  one  of  many  passages  that 
might  be  produced  would  give  convincing  proof  of  his 
great  powers  as  a  speaker. 

When  a  little  child,  he  had  an  uncommon  way  of  speak- 
ing, which  foretold  his  future  extraordinary  power  of  ex- 
pression. On  one  occasion  a  servant  blunderingly  spilled 
hot  coffee  over  his  legs.  The  hostess,  after  a  while,  asked 
him  how  he  was  feeling.  The  little  fellow  looked  up  in 
her  face,  and  replied :  "  Thank  you,  madam,  the  agony 
is  abated."  He  had,  it  is  stated,  a  little  plot  of  ground  at 
the  back  of  the  house  marked  out  as  his  own  by  a  row 
of  oyster-shells,  which  a  maid  one  day  threw  away  as 
rubbish.  He  went  straight  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
his  mother  was  entertaining  some  visitors,  walked  into 
the  circle,  and  said,  very  solemnly :  "  Cursed  be  Sally ; 
for  it  is  written,  *  Cursed  is  he  that  removeth  his  neigh- 
bor's landmark.'  "  In  later  years,  his  father  was  often 
heard  to  exclaim :  "  If  I  had  only  Tom's  power  of 
speech !  " 

His  first  public  speech  was  made  when  he  was  not 
twenty-four  years  old,  at  the  annual  anti-slavery  meeting 
in  London,  and  all  accounts  agree  in  the  statement  that 
its  brilliancy  confirmed  the  reputation  he  had  acquired 
in  the  debating  societies  of  Cambridge  and  the  metrop- 
olis. The  Edinburgh  Review  described  it  as  "  a  display 
of  eloquence  so  signal  for  rare  and  matured  excellence, 
that  the  most  practiced  orator  may  well  admire  how  it 
should  have  come  from  one  who  then  for  the  first  time 
addressed  a  public  assembly."  His  first  speech  in  the 
House  of  Commons  was  made  five  or  six  years  afterward, 
in  support  of  the  bill  to  repeal  the  civil  disabilities  of  the 
Jews  of  Great  Britain,  and  his  second  on  Slavery  in  the 
West  Indies.     The  next  year  he  delivered  the  first  of  what 


LORD  MACAULAY.  89 

are  known  as  his  Reform  speeches.  When  he  sat  down, 
it  is  said,  the  Speaker  sent  for  him,  and  told  him  that,  in 
all  his  prolonged  experience,  he  had  never  seen  the  House 
in  such  a  state  of  excitement.  Portions  of  the  speech, 
said  a  distinguished  opponent,  "  were  as  beautiful  as  any- 
thing I  have  ever  heard  or  read.  It  reminded  one  of  the 
old  times."  The  names  of  Fox,  Burke,  and  Canning,  it 
is  stated,  were  during  that  evening  in  every  body's  mouth ; 
and  Macaulay  overheard  with  delight  a  knot  of  old  mem- 
bers illustrating  their  criticisms  by  recollections  of  Lord 
Plunket.  It  was  no  easy  thing  to  achieve  such  extraor- 
dinary success  in  such  a  peculiar  place.  "A  place,"  to 
use  Macaulay's  own  language,  "  where  Walpole  succeeded 
and  Addison  failed  ;  where  Dundas  succeeded  and  Burke 
failed  ;  where  Peel  now  succeeds  and  Mackintosh  fails  ; 
where  Erskine  and  Scarlett  were  dinner-bells ;  where 
Lawrence  and  Jekyll,  the  two  wittiest  men,  or  nearly  so, 
of  their  time,  were  thought  bores,  is  surely  a  very  strange 
place."  Peel  described  the  speech  as  a  "  wonderful  flow 
of  natural  and  beautiful  language,"  richly  freighted  with 
"thought  and  fancy."  Jeffrey  said  of  it:  "It  was  pro- 
digiously cheered,  as  it  deserved,  and,  I  think,  puts  him 
clearly  at  the  head  of  the  great  speakers,  if  not  the  de- 
baters, of  the  House."  Cockburn,  who  sat  under  the  gal- 
lery for  twenty-seven  hours  during  the  last  three  nights 
of  the  Reform  bill,  pronounced  Macaulay's  speech  to  have 
been  "by  far  the  best."  Mackintosh  writes  from  the 
library  of  the  House  of  Commons  :  "  Macaulay  and  Stan- 
ley have  made  two  of  the  finest  speeches  ever  spoken  in 
Parliament."  The  bill  was  carried  by  one  vote.  In  a 
letter  to  his  old  friend  Ellis,  Macaulay  gives  an  animated 
description  of  the  effect  of  its  passage.  "If  I  should 
live  fifty  years,"  he  says,  "  the  impression  of  it  will  be 
as  sharp  in  my  mind  as  if  it  had  just  taken  place.  It 
was  like  seeing  Caesar  stabbed  in  the  Senate-house,  or 
seeing  Oliver  taking  the  mace  from  the  table ;  a  sight  to 


90  CHARACTERISTICS. 

be  seen  only  once,  and  never  to  be  forgotten."  You 
might,  he  says,  have  heard  a  pin  drop  as  Duncannon  de- 
clared the  result.  "Then  again  the  shouts  broke  out, 
and  many  of  us  shed  tears.  I  could  scarcely  refrain. 
And  the  jaw  of  Peel  fell ;  and  the  face  of  Twiss  was  as 
the  face  of  a  damned  soul ;  and  Herries  looked  like  Ju- 
das taking  his  neck-tie  off  for  the  last  operation." 

His  speeches  in  behalf  of  the  Jews,  the  Slaves  in  the 
West  Indies,  and  the  Catholics,  must  stand  as  fine  speci- 
mens of  a  high  order  of  eloquence.  His  whole  heart 
was  in  every  word  of  them.  By  nature  and  by  education 
he  bitterly  hated  every  form  of  injustice  and  oppression. 
The  orator,  it  should  be  remembered,  was  a  son  of 
Zachary  Macaulay,  the  philanthropist,  one  of  the  chiefs 
of  the  Clapham  sect,  and  an  active  associate  of  Clarkson 
and  Wilberforce.  The  inscription  on  the  pedestal  of  the 
eminent  man's  bust  in  Westminster  Abbey  characterizes 
him  as  one  "  who  during  forty  successive  years,  partaking 
in  the  counsels  and  the  labors  which,  guided  by  favoring 
Providence,  rescued  Africa  from  the  woes,  and  the  British 
empire  from  the  guilt,  of  slavery  and  the  slave-trade, 
meekly  endured  the  toil,  the  privation,  and  the  reproach, 
resigning  to  others  the  praise  and  the  reward."  Living 
in  the  moral  atmosphere  of  such  a  man,  Macaulay  imbibed 
his  convictions  and  enthusiasm,  and  was  fully  prepared, 
when  the  time  came,  to  assist  in  finishing  the  work  which 
the  little  despised  band  of  reformers  had  so  inauspiciously 
begun. 

His  set  speeches  were  of  course  carefully  prepared ; 
yet,  it  is  said,  when  he  rose  in  his  place  to  take  part  in  a 
discussion  which  had  been  long  foreseen,  he  had  no  notes 
in  his  hand  and  no  manuscript  in  his  pocket.  "If  a  de- 
bate was  in  prospect,  he  would  turn  the  subject  over 
while  he  paced  his  chamber  or  tramped  along  the  streets. 
Each  thought,  as  it  rose  in  his  mind,  embodied  itself  in 
phrases,  and  clothed  itself  in  an  appropriate  drapery  of 


LORD  MAC  AULA  Y.  9 1 

images,  instances,  and  quotations  j  and  when,  in  the 
course  of  his  speech,  the  thought  recurred,  all  the  words 
which  gave  it  point  and  beauty  spontaneously  recurred 
with  it." 

"  A  torrent  of  words,"  said  a  critical  listener,  "  is  the 
only  description  of  Macaulay's  style,  when  he  has  warmed 
into  speed.  And  such  words ! "  "  In  all  probability," 
said  another,  "  it  was  that  fullness  of  mind,  which  broke 
out  in  many  departments,  that  constituted  him  a  born 
orator.  Vehemence  of  thought,  vehemence  of  language, 
vehemence  of  manner,  were  his  chief  characteristics. 
The  listener  might  almost  fancy  he  heard  ideas  and  words 
gurgling  in  the  speaker's  throat  for  priority  of  utterance. 
There  was  nothing  graduated  or  undulating  about  him. 
He  plunged  at  once  into  the  heart  of  the  matter,  and 
continued  his  loud  resounding  pace  from  beginning  to 
end,  without  halt  or  pause."  When  highly  excited  in 
speech,  his  mind  might  have  been  likened  —  as  somebody 
has  compared  Napoleon's  at  times  —  to  "a  volcano,  sur- 
charged with  molten  granite."  Of  his  most  tremendous 
bursts  might  have  been  said  what  Jeffrey  once  said  of 
Chalmers'  eloquence,  —  "  he  buried  his  adversaries  under 
the  fragments  of  burning  mountains." 

As  a  talker,  Macaulay  must  have  been  very  extraordi- 
nary, judging  even  from  the  accounts  of  associate  talkers, 
who,  wanting  their  own  share  in  the  conversation,  found 
it  difficult  to  give  due  credit  to  a  brilliant  competitor. 
Crabb  Robinson  met  him  at  a  dinner-party,  about  the 
time  he  began  to  be  famous,  and  described  him  in  his 
diary  as  "  very  eloquent  and  cheerful.  Overflowing  with 
words,  and  not  poor  in  thought.  Liberal  in  opinion, 
but  no  radical.  He  seems  a  correct  as  well  as  a  full 
man.  He  showed  a  minute  knowledge  of  subjects  not 
introduced  by  himself."  A  high  compliment,  certainly,  to 
be  paid  by  one  wit  to  another.  Sumner,  the  first  time 
he  was  in  England,  dined  with  Macaulay.     He  speaks  of 


92  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  the  incessant  ringing  of  Macaulay's  voice,"  in  contrast 
with  Bulwer's  "lisping,  slender,  and  effeminate  tones." 
Altogether,  he  thought  Macaulay  "  oppressive."  Perhaps, 
bred  under  P-uritan  influence,  and  imbibing  some  of  the 
same  tastes  and  convictions,  they  both  wanted  to  talk  of 
the  same  things  at  the  same  time.  Sydney  Smith,  we 
suspect,  was  a  little  inclined  to  disparage  him  for  a  like 
reason.  With  such  great  conversers  as  Rogers,  Luttrell, 
Sydney  Smith,  Tom  Moore,  Mackintosh,  and  Conversa- 
tion Sharp,  it  was  a  bitter  thing  to  be  put  out  in  conver- 
sation. Any  thing  might  be  forgotten  before  that.  Hardly 
any  loss  was  more  serious,  for  the  time  being,  than  the 
loss  of  opportunity  to  say  a  good  thing.  He  was  a  favor- 
ite at  Holland  House.  Lady  Holland,  we  know,  listened 
to  him  with  unwonted  deference,  and  scolded  him  with  a 
circumspection  that  was  in  itself  a  compliment.  Rogers 
spoke  of  him  with  friendliness,  and  to  him  with  positive 
affection.  Sharp  treated  him  with  great  kindness  and 
consideration.  For  the  space  of  three  seasons,  we  are 
informed,  he  dined  out  almost  nightly,  and  spent  many 
of  his  Sundays  in  the  suburban  mansions  of  his  friends. 
It  would  have  been  interesting  to  have  heard  him  converse 
with  Talleyrand,  at  Holland  House,  about  Metternich  and 
Cardinal  Mazarin.  If  some  Boswell  had  followed  him 
about,  what  an  interesting  book  we  should  have  had ! 
Lord  Carlisle,  in  his  journal,  mentions  having  met  Ma- 
caulay at  a  dinner-party.  "  Never,"  he  says,  "  were  such 
torrents  of  good  talk  as  burst  and  sputtered  over  from 
Macaulay  and  Hallam."  He  notes  another  occasion  when 
he  breakfasted  with  Macaulay  in  his  rooms  at  the  top  of 
the  Albany  —  their  walls  covered  with  seven  to  ten  thou- 
sand books.  Macaulay's  conversation,  he  says,  "ranged 
the  world." 

"  If  a  company  of  giants  were  got  together,"  says 
Thackeray,  in  one  of  his  Roundabout  Papers,  "very 
likely  one  or  two  of  the  mere  six-feet-six  people  might  be 


LORD  MACAULAY.  93 

angry  at  the  incontestable  superiority  of  the  very  tallest 
of  the  party ;  so  I  have  heard  some  of  the  London  wits, 
rather  peevish  at  Macaulay's  superiority,  complain  that 
he  occupied  too  much  of  the  talk,  and  so  forth.  Now 
that  that  wonderful  tongue  is  to  speak  no  more,  will  not 
many  a  man  grieve  that  he  no  longer  has  the  chance  to 
listen?  To  remember  the  talk  is  to  wonder:  to  think 
not  only  of  the  treasures  he  had  in  his  memory,  but  of 
the  trifles  he  had  stored  there,  and  could  produce  with 
equal  readiness.  .  .  .  Every  man  who  has  known  him  has 
his  story  regarding  that  astonishing  memory.  It  may  be 
that  he  was  not  ill-pleased  that  you  should  recognize  it ; 
but  to  those  prodigious  intellectual  feats,  which  were  so 
easy  to  him,  who  would  grudge  his  tribute  of  homage  ? " 

Hawthorne,  you  remember,  in  one  of  his  English  Note- 
Books,  speaks  of  having  met  Macaulay  at  Milnes'.  "  All 
through  breakfast,"  he  says,  "  I  had  been  more  and  more 
impressed  by  the  aspect  of  one  of  the  guests,  sitting  next 
to  Milnes.  He  was  a  man  of  large  presence,  —  a  portly 
presence,  gray-haired,  but  scarcely  as  yet  aged ;  and  his 
face  had  a  remarkable  intelligence,  not  vivid  nor  sparkling, 
but  conjoined  with  great  quietude,  —  and  if  it  gleamed 
or  brightened  at  one  time  more  than  another,  it  was  like 
the  sheen  over  a  broad  surface  of  sea.  There  was  a 
somewhat  careless  self-possession,  large  and  broad  enough 
to  be  called  dignity ;  and  the  more  I  looked  at  him,  the 
more  I  knew  that  he  was  a  distinguished  person,  and  won- 
dered who.  He  might  have  been  a  minister  of  state; 
only  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  has  any  right  to  such 
a  face  and  presence.  At  last,  —  I  do  not  know  how  the 
conviction  came,  —  but  I  became  aware  that  it  was  Ma- 
caulay, and  began  to  see  some  slight  resemblance  to  his 
portraits.  But  I  have  never  seen  any  that  is  not  wretch- 
edly unworthy  of  the  original.  As  soon  as  I  knew  him, 
I  began  to  listen  to  his  conversation,  but  he  did  not  talk 
a  great  deal." 


94  CHARACTERISTICS. 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  his  sisters,  he  speaks  of  an 
occasion  when  he  dined  with  the  two  wits,  Rogers  and 
Sydney  Smith.  Two  or  three  sentences  are  worth  quot- 
ing, though  a  little  out  of  the  way,  to  show  how  different 
and  incompatible  they  were.  "  Singly,"  says  Macaulay, 
"  I  have  often  seen  them  ;  but  to  see  them  both  together 
was  a  novelty,  and  a  novelty  not  the  less  curious  because 
their  mutual  hostility  is  well  known,  and  the  hard  hits 
which  they  have  given  to  each  other  are  in  every  body's 
mouth.  They  were  very  civil,  however.  But  I  was 
struck  by  the  truth  of  what  Matthew  Bramble  says  in 
Smollett's  Humphry  Clinker  —  that  one  wit  in  a  company, 
like  a  knuckle  of  ham  in  soup,  gives  a  flavor,  but  two  are 
too  many.  Rogers  and  Sydney  Smith  would  not  come 
into  conflict.  If  one  had  possession  of  the  company,  the 
other  was  silent ;  and,  as  you  may  conceive,  the  one  who 
had  possession  of  the  company  was  always  Sydney  Smith, 
and  the  one  who  was  always  silent  was  Rogers."  The 
conversation  of  Rogers,  he  informs  us,  was  remarkably 
polished  and  artificial.  What  he  said  seemed  to  have 
been  long  meditated,  and  might  have  been  published 
with  little  correction.  Sydney  talked  from  the  impulse 
of  the  moment,  and  his  fun  was  quite  inexhaustible.  No 
wonder  such  opposites  could  never  agree.  No  intellec- 
tual or  moral  amalgam  —  not  even  Macaulay,  with  all 
his  genius  and  good-nature  —  could  have  fused  them  to- 
gether. 

At  the  Palace  of  the  Queen  his  powers  of  conversation 
were  as  well  known  and  as  fully  appreciated  as  at  the 
house  of  his  sisters.  A  lady  who  met  him  frequently  at 
the  Palace,  whether  in  the  character  of  a  cabinet  minis- 
ter or  of  a  private  guest,  said  of  him :  "  Mr.  Macaulay 
was  very  interesting  to  listen  to  ;  quite  immeasurably 
abundant  in  anecdote  and  knowledge." 

"  Years  ago,"  says  Thackeray,  "  there  was  a  wretched 
outcry  raised  because  Mr.  Macaulay  dated  a  letter  from 


LORD  MACAULAY.  95 

Windsor  Castle,  where  he  was  staying.  Immortal  gods  ! 
Was  this  man  not  a  fit  guest  for  any  palace  in  the  world  ? 
or  a  fit  companion  for  any  man  or  woman  in  it  ? " 

His  appearance  and  bearing  in  conversation  are  de- 
scribed as  singularly  effective.  "  Sitting  bolt  upright,  his 
hands  resting  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  or  folded  over  the 
handle  of  his  walking-stick ;  knitting  his  great  eyebrows 
if  the  subject  was  one  which  had  to  be  thought  out  as  he 
went  along,  or  brightening  from  the  forehead  downward 
when  a  burst  of  humor  was  coming ;  his  massive  features 
and  honest  glance  suited  well  with  the  manly,  sagacious 
sentiments  which  he  set  forth  in  his  pleasant,  sonorous 
voice,  and  in  his  racy  and  admirably  intelligible  language. 
To  get  at  his  meaning,  people  had  never  the  need  to  think 
twice,  and  they  certainly  had  seldom  the  time.  And  with 
all  his  ardor,  and  all  his  strength  and  energy  of  convic- 
tion, he  was  so  truly  considerate  toward  others,  so  deli- 
cately courteous  with  the  courtesy  which  is  of  the  essence, 
and  not  only  in  the  manner.  However  eager  had  been 
the  debate,  and  however  prolonged  the  sitting,  no  one  in 
the  company  ever  had  personal  reasons  for  wishing  a 
word  of  his  unsaid,  or  a  look  or  a  tone  recalled." 

Great,  however,  as  were  his  gifts  as  a  talker  and  as  a 
speaker,  he  surrendered  them  all  finally  to  literature. 
"  At  a  period,"  says  his  biographer,  "  when  the  mere 
rumor  of  his  presence  would  have  made  the  fortune  of 
any  drawing-room  in  London,  Macaulay  consented  to  see 
less  and  less,  and  at  length  almost  nothing,  of  general 
society,  in  order  that  he  might  devote  all  his  energies  to 
the  work  which  he  had  in  hand.  He  relinquished  that 
House  of  Commons  which  the  first  sentence  of  his 
speeches  hushed  into  silence,  and  the  first  five  minutes 
filled  to  overflowing."  He  gave  up  all  to  devote  himself 
to  his  History. 

AS  A   MAN. 

Carlyle  once  said  of  Macaulay,  that  he  was  "  an  honest, 


96  CHARACTERISTICS. 

good  sort  of  fellow,  made  out  of  oatmeal."  In  other 
words,  that  he  was  of  good  Scotch  stock,  and  had  been 
generously  brought  up  on  good  air,  simple  food,  and 
sound  instruction.  The  qualities  that  he  had  inherited 
and  scrupulously  cultivated,  were  genuine,  and  of  the 
highest  manhood.  The  "pith  o'  sense,"  and  "pride  o' 
worth,"  and  books,  made  him  so  much  a  man,  and  so 
different  from  other  men,  that  independence  was  a  neces- 
sity to  him.  If  he  was  to  be  a  man,  and  fight  the  battle 
of  life  on  his  own  ground,  it  must  be  his,  without  any 
question  of  title.  Believing  that  in  the  hour  in  which  a 
man  "  mortgages  himself  to  two,  or  ten,  or  twenty,  he 
dwarfs  himself  below  the  stature  of  one;"  and  being 
determined  that  he  would  not  be  "  cramped  and  dimin- 
ished of  his  proportions,"  the  desire,  not  for  riches,  but 
for  independence,  took  deep  root  within  him.  He  felt 
that  he  had  much  to  say  in  this  world,  and  would  say  it, 
without  fear  or  favor.  He  felt,  too,  there  is  reason  to 
believe,  as  a  late  writer  expresses  it,  that  "  good  work,  as 
a  rule,  is  only  done  by  people  who  have  paid  their  bills. 
Why  was  Shakespeare  so  far  ahead  of  all  contemporary 
dramatists?  Because  Shakespeare  had  the  good  sense 
to  make  money,  and  was  therefore  able  to  command  the 
market,  and  write  his  late  works  without  undue  pressure. 
Others  could  only  write  in  a  tavern,  or  to  get  out  of  a 
creditor's  clutches.  Shakespeare's  mind  was  at  ease  by 
the  consciousness  of  his  comfortable  investments  at  Strat- 
ford. Hamlet  was  written  because  Shakespeare  was  sol- 
vent." 

Just  before  going  to  India,  Macaulay  wrote  to  Lord 
Lansdowne :  "  I  feel  that  the  sacrifice  which  I  am  about  to 
make  is  great.  But  the  motives  which  urge  me  to  make 
it  are  quite  irresistible.  Every  day  that  I  live,  I  become 
less  and  less  desirous  of  great  wealth.  But  every  day 
makes  me  more  sensible  of  the  importance  of  a  compe- 
tence.   Without  a  competence,  it  is  not  very  easy  for  a 


LORD  MACAULAY.  97 

public  man  to  be  honest :  it  is  almost  impossible  for  him 
to  be  thought  so.  I  am  so  situated  that  I  can  subsist 
only  in  two  ways  :  by  being  in  office,  and  by  my  pen. 
Hitherto  literature  has  been  merely  my  relaxation  —  the 
amusement  of  perhaps  a  month  in  the  year.  I  have  never 
considered  it  as  the  means  of  support.  I  have  chosen 
my  own  topics,  taken  my  own  time,  and  dictated  my  own 
terms.  The  thought  of  becoming  a  bookseller's  hack ; 
of  writing  to  relieve,  not  the  fullness  of  the  mind,  but 
the  emptiness  of  the  pocket ;  of  spurring  a  jaded  fancy 
to  reluctant  exertion  ;  of  filling  sheets  with  trash  merely 
that  the  sheets  may  be  filled  ;  of  bearing  from  publishers 
and  editors  what  Dryden  bore  from  Tonson,  and  what, 
to  my  own  knowledge,  Mackintosh  bore  from  Lardner, 
is  horrible  to  me.  Yet  thus  it  must  be  if  I  should  quit 
office.  Yet  to  hold  office  merely  for  the  sake  of  emolu- 
ment would  be  more  horrible  still.  The  situation  in 
which  I  have  been  placed,  for  some  time  back,  would 
have  broken  the  spirit  of  many  men.  It  has  rather 
tended  to  make  me  the  most  mutinous  and  unmanage- 
able of  the  followers  of  the  Government.  I  tendered  my 
resignation  twice  during  the  course  of  the  last  session. 
I  certainly  should  not  have  done  so  if  I  had  been  a  man 
of  fortune." 

Not  long  after  he  arrived  in  India,  he  wrote  familiarly 
to  two  of  his  sisters :  "  Money  matters  seem  likely  to 
go  on  capitally.  My  expenses,  I  find,  will  be  smaller 
than  I  anticipated.  The  rate  of  exchange,  if  you  know 
what  that  means,  is  very  favorable  indeed ;  and,  if  I  live, 
I  shall  get  rich  fast.  I  quite  enjoy  the  thought  of  ap- 
pearing in  the  light  of  an  old  hunks  who  knows  on  which 
side  his  bread  is  buttered ;  a  warm  man ;  a  fellow  who 
will  cut  up  well.  This  is  not  a  character  which  the  Ma- 
caulays  have  been  much  in  the  habit  of  sustaining ;  but 
I  can  assure  you  that,  after  next  Christmas,  I  expect  to 
lay  up,  on  an  average,  about  seven  thousand  pounds  a 
7 


98  CHARACTERISTICS. 

year,  while  I  remain  in  India.  At  Christmas,  I  shall 
send  home  a  thousand  or  twelve  hundred  pounds  for  my 
father,  and  you  all.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  comfort  it 
is  to  me  to  find  that  I  shall  be  able  to  do  this.  It  recon- 
ciles me  to  all  the  pains  —  acute  enough,  sometimes,  God 
knows  —  of  banishment.  In  a  few  years,  if  I  live  —  prob- 
ably in  less  than  five  years  from  the  time  at  which  you 
will  be  reading  this  letter,  —  we  shall  be  again  together 
in  a  comfortable,  though  modest,  home  ;  certain  of  a  good 
fire,  a  good  joint  of  meat,  and  a  good  glass  of  wine ;  with- 
out owing  obligations  to  any  body,  and  perfectly  indif- 
ferent, at  least  as  far  as  our  pecuniary  interest  is  con- 
cerned, to  the  changes  of  the  political  world." 

The  sacrifice  he  made  for  independence  was  indeed 
great.  He  wrQte  to  one  of  his  sisters  from  Calcutta :  "  I 
have  no  words  to  tell  you  how  I  pine  for  England,  or 
how  intensely  bitter  exile  has  been  to  me,  though  I  hope 
that  I  have  borne  it  well.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  no  other 
wish  than  to  see  my  country  again,  and  die.  Let  me  as- 
sure you  that  banishment  is  no  light  matter.  No  person 
can  judge  of  it  who  has  not  experienced  it.  A  complete 
revolution  in  all  the  habits  of  life ;  an  estrangement  from 
almost  every  old  friend  and  acquaintance  :  fifteen  thou- 
sand miles  of  ocean  between  the  exile  and  every  thing 
that  he  cares  for ;  all  this  is,  to  me  at  least,  very  trying. 
There  is  no  temptation  of  w^ealth  or  power  which  would 
induce  me  to  go  through  it  again."  But,  back  again  in 
London,  two  or  three  years  after  his  return  —  his  object 
accomplished,  —  he  wrote  to  Napier :  "  I  can  truly  say, 
that  I  have  not,  for  many  years,  been  so  happy  as  I  am 
at  present.  Before  I  went  to  India,  I  had  no  prospect  of 
a  change  of  government,  except  that  of  living  by  my  pen, 
and  seeing  my  sisters  governesses.  In  India  I  was  an 
exile.  When  I  came  back,  I  was  for  a  time  at  liberty ; 
but  I  had  before  me  the  prospect  of  parting  in  a  few 
months,  probably  forever,  with  my  dearest  sister  and  her 


LORD  MACAULAY.  99 

children.  That  misery  was  removed  ;  but  I  found  myself 
in  office,  a  member  of  a  Government  wretchedly  weak,  and 
struggling  for  existence.  Now  I  am  free.  I  am  inde- 
pendent. I  am  in  Parliament,  as  honorably  seated  as 
man  can  be.  My  family  is  comfortably  off.  I  have  leisure 
for  literature,  yet  I  am  not  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
writing  for  money.  If  I  had  to  choose  a  lot  from  all  that 
are  in  human  life,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  prefer  any 
to  that  which  has  befallen  me.  I  am  sincerely  and  thor- 
oughly contented." 

To  his  sisters,  especially  to  Margaret  and  Hannah,  he 
was  warmly  attached.  Although  younger  than  himself 
by  ten  and  twelve  years  respectively,  they  were  on  terms 
of  the  most  intimate  companionship  with  him.  After- 
noons he  took  long  walks  with  them.  "  We  traversed," 
says  one  of  them,  "  every  part  of  the  city,  Islington, 
Clerkenwell,  and  the  parks,  returning  just  in  time  for  a 
six  o'clock  dinner.  What  anecdotes  he  used  to  pour  out 
about  every  street,  and  square,  and  alley.  There  are 
many  places  I  never  pass  without  the  tender  grace  of  a 
day  that  is  dead  coming  back  to  me.  Then,  after  dinner, 
he  always  walked  up  and  down  the  drawing-room  between 
us,  chatting  till  tea-time.  Our  noisy  mirth,  his  wretched 
puns,  so  many  a  minute,  so  many  an  hour !  Then  we 
sung,  none  of  us  having  any  voices,  and  he,  if  possible, 
least  of  all ;  but  still  the  old  nursery  songs  were  set  to 
music  and  chanted."  "When  alone  with  his  sisters," 
says  Trevelyan,  "  and,  in  after  years,  with  his  nieces,  he 
was  fond  of  settling  himself  deliberately  to  manufactur- 
ing conceits  resembling  those  on  the  heroes  of  the  Trojan 
war  which  have  been  thought  worthy  of  publication  in 
the  collected  works  of  Swift.  When  walking  in  London 
[he  had  Dr.  Johnson's  passion  for  the  great  town]  he 
would  undertake  to  give  some  droll  turn  to  the  name  of 
every  shopkeeper  in  the  street,  and,  when  traveling,  to 
the  name  of  every  station  along  the  line.     At  home,  he 


ICX)  CHARACTERISTICS. 

would  run  through  the  countries  of  Europe,  the  States 
of  the  Union,  the  chief  cities  of  our  Indian  Empire,  the 
provinces  of  France,  the  Prime  Ministers  of  England,  or 
the  chief  writers  and  artists  of  any  given  century ;  strik- 
ing off  puns,  admirable,  endurable,  and  execrable,  but 
all  irresistibly  laughable,  which  followed  each  other  in 
showers  like  sparks  from  flint.  Capping  verses  was  a 
game  of  which  he  never  tired."  Such  entries  as  this 
occur  in  Margaret's  diary  :  "  Jan'y  8th,  1832.  Yesterday 
Tom  dined  with  us,  and  staid  late.  He  talked  almost 
uninterruptedly  for  six  hours.  In  the  evening  he  made  a 
great  many  impromptu  charades  in  verse."  He  read  his 
works  to  them  in  manuscript,  and  when  they  found  fault, 
as  they  often  did,  with  his  being  too  severe  upon  people, 
he  took  it  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  often  altered 
what  they  did  not  like.  After  a  visit  to  Holland  House, 
he  writes  to  Hannah :  "  But  for  all  this,  I  would  much 
rather  be  quietly  walking  with  you  :  and  the  great  use  of 
going  to  these  fine  places  is  to  learn  how  happy  it  is  pos- 
sible to  be  without  them."  In  another  letter  to  Hannah, 
after  speaking  of  the  compliments  showered  upon  him 
by  Althorp,  Graham,  Stanley,  Russell,  O'Connell,  and 
the  newspaper  press,  he  says  :  "  My  greatest  pleasure,  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  praise,  is  to  think  of  the  pleasure 
which  my  success  will  give  to  my  father  and  my  sisters. 
It  is  happy  for  me  that  ambition  has  in  my  mind  been 
softened  into  a  kind  of  domestic  feeling,  and  that  affec- 
tion has  at  least  as  much  to  do  as  vanity  with  my  wish  to 
distinguish  myself.  This  I  owe  to  my  dear  mother,  and 
to  the  interest  which  she  always  took  in  my  childish  suc- 
cesses. From  my  earliest  years,  the  gratification  of  those 
whom  I  love  has  been  associated  with  the  gratification  of 
my  own  thirst  for  fame,  until  the  two  have  become  insep- 
arably joined  in  my  mind."  After  reciting  his  engage- 
ments to  dine  with  lords  and  ladies,  every  day  for  a  fort- 
night, he  writes  :  "  Yet  I  would  give  a  large  slice  of  my 


LORD  MACAULAV.'  101 

quarter's  salary,  which  is  now  nearly  due,  to  be  at  the 
Dingle.  I  am  sick  of  lords  with  no  brains  in  their  heads, 
and  ladies  with  paint  on  their  cheeks,  and  politics,  and 
politicians,  and  that  reeking  furnace  of  a  House.  As  the 
poet  says : 

*  Oh  !  rather  would  I  see  this  day 
My  little  Nancy  well  and  merry, 
Than  the  blue  ribbon  of  Earl  Grey, 
Or  the  blue  stockings  of  Miss  Berry.'  " 

Writing  anxiously  to  Hannah  about  her  health,  he  says  : 
"  I  begin  to  wonder  what  the  fascination  is  which  attracts 
men,  who  could  sit  over  their  tea  and  their  books  in  their 
own  cool,  quiet  room,  to  breathe  bad  air,  hear  bad 
speeches,  lounge  up  and  down  the  long  gallery,  and  doze 
uneasily  on  the  green  benches  till  three  in  the  morning. 
Thank  God,  these  luxuries  are  not  necessary  to  me.  My 
pen  is  sufficient  for  my  support,  and  my  sister's  company 
is  sufficient  for  my  happiness.  Only  let  me  see  her  well 
and  cheerful,  and  let  offices  in  Government  and  seats  in 
Parliament  go  to  those  who  care  for  them."  Again  he 
says  :  "  The  Tories  are  quite  welcome  to  take  every  thing, 
if  they  will  only  leave  me  my  pen  and  my  books,  a  warm 
fireside,  and  you  chattering  beside  it.  This  sort  of  phil- 
osophy, an  odd  kind  of  cross  between  Stoicism  and  Epi- 
cureanism, I  have  learned  where  most  people  unlearn  all 
their  philosophy  —  in  crowded  senates  and  fine  drawing- 
rooms."  "  There  are  not  ten  people  in  the  world  whose 
deaths  would  spoil  my  dinner  ;  but  there  are  one  or  two 
whose  deaths  would  break  my  heart.  The  more  I  see 
of  the  world,  and  the  more  numerous  my  acquaintance 
becomes,  the  narrower  and  more  exclusive  my  affection 
grows,  and  the  more  I  cling  to  my  sisters,  and  to  one  or 
two  old  tried  friends  of  my  quiet  days."  The  marriage 
of  Margaret,  and  his  separation  from  her,  were  serious 
things  to  Macaulay.  Hannah  (Nancy)  he  took  with  him 
to  India,  where  she  met  and  married  Trevelyan.     He 


I'a2  CtiXRACTERISTICS. 

wrote  to  Margaret  (Mrs.  Cropper)  from  Calcutta  :  "  My 
parting  from  you  almost  broke  my  heart.  But  when  I 
parted  from  you  I  had  Nancy ;  I  had  all  my  other  rela- 
tions ;  I  had  my  friends  ;  I  had  my  country.  Now  I  have 
nothing  except  the  resources  of  my  own  mind,  and  the 
consciousness  of  having  acted  not  ungenerously."  Next 
came  Margaret's  death.  One  of  the  many  painful  refer- 
ences he  makes  to  it  is  in  a  letter  to  his  dear  old  friend 
Ellis,  nearly  a  year  after  the  event :  "  I  have  but  very 
lately  begun  to  recover  my  spirits.  The  tremendous  blow 
which  fell  on  me  at  the  beginning  of  this  year  has  left 
marks  behind  it  which  I  shall  carry  to  my  grave.  Liter- 
ature has  saved  my  life  and  my  reason.  Even  now,  I  dare 
not,  in  the  inter\^als  of  business,  remain  alone  for  a  min- 
ute without  a  book  in  my  hand." 

After  his  departure  to  India,  writes  one  of  his  sisters  : 
"  You  can  have  no  conception  of  the  change  which  has 
come  over  this  household.  It  is  as  if  the  sun  had  de- 
serted the  earth.  The  chasm  Tom's  departure  has  made 
can  never  be  supplied.  He  was  so  unlike  any  other 
being  one  ever  sees,  and  his  visits  among  us  were  a  sort 
of  refreshment  which  served  not  a  little  to  enliven  and 
cheer  our  monotonous  way  of  life;  but  now  day  after 
day  rises  and  sets  without  object  or  interest,  so  that 
sometimes  I  almost  feel  aweary  of  this  world." 

"  He  was  peculiarly  susceptible,"  says  Lady  Trevelyan, 
"  of  the  feeling  of  ennui  when  in  society.  He  really  hated 
staying  out,  even  in  the  best  and  most  agreeable  houses. 
It  was  with  an  effort  that  he  even  dined  out,  and  few  of 
those  who  met  him,  and  enjoyed  his  animated  conversa- 
tion, could  guess  how  much  rather  he  would  have  re- 
mained at  home,  and  how  much  difficulty  I  had  to  force 
him  to  accept  invitations  and  prevent  his  growing  a  re- 
cluse. But  though  he  was  very  easily  bored  in  general 
society,  I  think  he  never  felt  ennui  when  he  was  alone, 
or  when  he  was  with  those  he  loved.     Many  people  are 


LORD   MACAULAY.  IO3 

very  fond  of  children,  but  he  was  the  only  person  I  ever 
knew  who  never  tired  of  being  with  them.  Often  has 
he  come  to  our  house,  at  Clapham  or  in  Westbourne 
Terrace,  directly  after  breakfast,  and  finding  me  out,  he 
dawdled  away  the  whole  morning  with  the  children  ;  and 
then,  after  sitting  with  me  at  lunch,  has  taken  Margaret 
a  long  walk  through  the  city,  which  lasted  the  whole  af- 
ternoon. Such  days  are  always  noted  in  his  journals  as 
especially  happy." 

All  this  of  the  man  who  was  so  severe  upon  Robert 
Montgomery,  Croker,  Barere,  and  others,  that  his  severity 
has  become  famous.  He  had  no  mercy  for  bad,  loose,  or 
inaccurate  writing.  His  models  were  classics.  "See," 
he  says,  referring  to  Croker,  "  see  whether  I  do  not  dust 
that  varlet's  jacket  for  him  in  the  next  number  of  the 
Blue  and  Yellow.  I  detest  him  more  than  cold  boiled 
veal."  Again  he  says :  "  I  have,  though  I  say  it  who 
should  not  say  it,  beaten  Croker  black  and  blue."  Of 
Barere,  he  wrote  to  Napier :  "  If  I  can,  I  will  make  the 
old  villain  shake,  even  in  his  grave."  What  he  said  of 
Churchill  was  perhaps  more  or  less  applicable  to  himself : 
"  There  was  too  great  a  tendency  to  say  with  willing  ve- 
hemence whatever  could  be  eloquently  said."  There 
is  something  in  the  prolonged  pounding  he  gave  Walpole 
that  reminds  us  of  Walpole's  blow  or  two  at  Johnson. 
Bold,  too,  he  was,  as  well  as  severe.  In  his  famous  re- 
view of  Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes,  "  he  contrived," 
says  one  who  knew,  "  to  offend  all  parties  —  Romanist, 
Anglican,  and  Genevan."  But  all  the  boldness  he  ever 
evinced  would  have  appeared  timidity,  and  all  his  severity 
gentleness,  if  he  had  once  fallen  upon  Brougham,  who 
bitterly  hated  him,  and  whom  Macaulay  cordially  disliked 
in  return,  and  would  have  delighted  beyond  measure,  we 
believe,  in  combating  to  the  death.  He  was  perfectly 
aware  of  Brougham's  jealousies,  insincerities,  and  cruel- 
ties, and  would  have  exhausted  upon  him  all  the  pro- 


104  CHARACTERISTICS. 

digious  resources  of  his  genius  and  passions.  "  I  do  not 
think  it  possible,"  he  said  to  ElUs,  *'  for  human  nature,  in 
an  educated,  civiHzed  man  —  a  man,  too,  of  great  intel- 
lect —  to  have  become  so  depraved."  "  Strange  fellow  !  " 
he  characterized  him,  more  than  twenty  years  afterward. 
"  His  powers  gone.  His  spite  immortal.  A  dead  nettle." 
What  a  contest  there  would  have  been  had  the  two  giants 
come  together ! 

Of  Macaulay's  public  life  and  character,  Sydney  Smith 
expressed  the  truth  in  a  fewAvords  :  "  I  believe  Macaulay 
to  be  incorruptible.  You  might  lay  ribbons,  stars,  garters, 
wealth,  title,  before  him  in  vain.  He  has  an  honest,  gen- 
uine love  of  his  country,  and  the  world  could  not  bribe 
him  to  neglect  her  interests." 

The  last  use  the  great  man  made  of  his  pen  was  to  sign 
a  letter  he  had  dictated,  inclosing  twenty-five  pounds  to  a 
DOor  curate. 


LAMB. 

Some  one  has  said,  that  to  have  a  true  idea  of  man, 
or  of  life,  one  must  have  stood  himself  on  the  brink  of 
suicide,  or  on  the  door-sill  of  insanity,  at  least  once.  It 
does  seem  impossible  that  easy-going  people,  who  have 
been  easily  prosperous,  who  have  uniformly  enjoyed  good 
health,  who  have  always  been  free  from  distressing  care, 
should  know  at  all  what  is  inevitably  and  perfectly  known 
by  being  between  the  millstones.  "  We  learn  geology," 
says  Emerson,  "the  morning  after  the  earthquake,  on 
ghastly  diagrams  of  cloven  mountains,  upheaved  plains, 
and  the  dry  bed  of  the  sea."  It  is  only  an  experience  of 
the  awful  that  fully  opens  the  eyes  of  the  understanding 
upon  the  dread  abysses  of  extremity  and  possibility.  To 
know  life,  it  is  necessary  to  have  struggled  hard  in  the 
midst  of  it ;  to  feel  for  the  suffering,  we  must  have  suf- 
fered acutely  ourselves.  "  Before  there  is  wine  or  there 
is  oil,  the  grape  must  be  trodden  and  the  olive  must  be 
pressed."  The  sweetest  characters,  we  know,  often  re- 
sult from  the  bitterest  experiences.  The  weight  of  great 
misfortunes,  and  the  perpetual  annoyance  of  petty  evils, 
only  tend  to  make  them  stronger  and  better.  Patience 
and  resignation  under  multiplied  ills  can  hardly  be  con- 
ceived by  those  who  have  only  trodden  at  will,  without 
burdens,  over  safe  and  pleasant  ground  in  easy  sandals. 
They  look  upon  life  and  inquire,  "  What  would  the  pos- 
session of  a  hundred  thousand  a  year,  or  fame,  and  the 
applause  of  one's  countrymen,  or  the  loveliest  and  best- 
beloved  woman  —  of  any  glory  and  happiness,  or  good 


I06  CHARACTERISTICS. 

fortune,  avail  to  a  man,  who  was  allowed  to  enjoy  them 
only  with  the  condition  of  wearing  a  shoe  with  a  couple 
of  nails  or  sharp  pebbles  inside  of  it  ? "  Good  men, 
knowledge  of  the  world  teaches  us,  are  not  easily  found 
amongst  those  who  have  never  known  misfortune  :  "  the 
heart  must  be  softened  by  sufferings,  to  make  it  constant, 
firm,  patient,  and  wise."  As  there  are  fishes  which  are 
intended  by  nature  for  great  sea-depths,  so  there  are  hu- 
man beings  to  whom  severe  pressure  seems  to  be  suited, 
and  who  seem  to  thrive  best  when  every  weight  is  upon 
them.  Birds  of  paradise,  from  the  very  nature  of  their 
plumage,  cannot  fly  except  against  the  wind.  One  of  the 
most  marvelously  beautiful  of  all  the  many  species  of  the 
humming-bird  is  only  to  be  found  in  the  crater  of  an  ex- 
tinguished volcano. 

That  Charles  Lamb  ever  contemplated  suicide,  we  do 
not'  know ;  but  we  do  know,  that  he  was,  early  in  life, 
confined  in  an  insane  asylum  for  a  short  period.  Once, 
alas !  he  not  only  stood  upon,  but  passed,  the  door-sill  of 
madness,  and  was  ever  after  indeed  wise  in  a  wisdom 
unknowable  but  by  those  who  dwell  long  enough  in  the 
midst  of  mental  chaos  for  the  impression  of  the  dreadful 
situation  ineradicably  to  infix  itself.  No  wonder,  knowing 
what  we  do  of  his  wretched  experiences,  the  best  picture 
we  have  of  him  should  show  to  us  a  face  full  of  all  en- 
durable suffering,  all  possible  pain,  awful  in  its  expression 
of  wretchedness,  and  looking,  for  all  the  world  —  we  can- 
not help  saying  it  —  like  a  skillful  limner's  painstaking 
study  of  madness. 

Life  very  early  taught  him  the  bitter  lesson  that  the 
ancient  Mexicans  taught  their  children  :  so  soon  as  a 
child  was  born  they  saluted  it,  "  Child,  thou  art  come 
into  the  world  to  endure,  suffer,  and  say  nothing."  Lamb 
endured,  and  suffered,  how  long !  and  was  dumb  beyond 
comprehension.  When  his  wretchedness  voiced  itself,  it 
was  unconsciously  or  inevitably.     When  the  burden  was 


LAMB.  107 

unbearable,  merciless,  the  cry  announcing  it  was  but  the 
creak  of  the  timber  before  breaking  —  the  echo  of  the 
agony  within  his  soul. 

Is  it  too  much  to  say,  that  his  peculiar  genius  was  in 
great  part  a  direct  result  of  his  supreme  wretchedness  ? 
His  humor,  his  wit,  his  wisdom,  his  very  style,  seem  in- 
deed to  be,  literally,  expression  —  to  have  been  forced  out 
of  him  by  pressure,  as  juices  and  oils  are  forced  from 
plants.  We  know  how  much  mere  physical  suffering  has 
had  to  do  with  the  most  famous  productions  of  literature. 
We  know  that  the  Caudle  Lectures,  which,  as  social  droll- 
eries, set  all  the  world  laughing,  were  written  to  dictation 
on  a  bed  of  sickness,  racked  by  rheumatism.  We  know 
that  Scott  dictated  that  fine  love  story,  the  Bride  of  Lam- 
mermoor,  from  a  bed  of  torment ;  and  that  so  great  was 
his  suffering  that  when  he  rose  from  his  bed,  and  the 
published  book  was  placed  in  his  hands,  he  did  not  recol- 
lect one  single  incident,  character,  or  conversation  it  con- 
tained. We  know  that  Heine,  for  several  years  preceding 
his  death,  was  a  miserable  paralytic.  All  that  time  he 
lay  upon  a  pile  of  mattresses,  racked  by  pain  and  ex- 
hausted by  sleeplessness,  till  his  body  was  reduced  below 
all  natural  dimensions.  The  muscular  debility  was  such 
that  he  had  to  raise  the  eyelid  with  his  hands  when  he 
wished  to  see  the  face  of  any  one  about  him  ;  and  thus  in 
darkness,  he  thought,  and  listened,  and  dictated,  preserv- 
ing to  the  very  last  his  clearness  of  intellect,  his  precision 
of  diction,  and  his  invincible  humor.  The  wretchedness 
of  Scarron,  at  whose  jests,  burlesques,  and  buffooneries 
all  France  was  laughing,  may  be  guessed  from  his  own 
description.  .  His  form,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  had  be- 
come bent  like  a  Z."  "  My  legs,"  he  adds,  "  first  made 
an  obtuse  angle  with  my  thighs,  then  a  right,  and  at  last 
an  acute  angle  ;  my  thighs  made  another  with  my  body. 
My  head  is  bent  upon  my  chest ;  my  arms  are  contracted 
as  well  as  my  legs,  and  my  fingers  as  well  as  my  arms. 


I08  CHARACTERISTICS. 

I  am,  in  truth,  a  pretty  complete  abridgment  of  human 
misery."  His  days  were  passed  in  a  chair  with  a  hood, 
and  his  wife  had  to  kneel  to  look  in  his  face.  He  could 
not  be  moved  without  screaming  from  pain,  nor  sleep 
without  taking  opium.  Balzac  said  of  him,  "  I  have  often 
met  in  antiquity  with  pain  that  was  wise,  and  pain  that 
was  eloquent ;  but  I  never  before  saw  pain  joyous,  nor 
found  a  soul  merrily  cutting  capers  in  a  paralytic  frame." 
He  continued  to  jest  to  the  last  j  and  seeing  the  by- 
standers in  tears,  he  said,  "I  shall  never,  my  friends, 
make  you  weep  as  much  as  I  have  made  you  laugh." 
Pascal,  we  know,  was  pitifully  feeble,  and  constantly  in 
pain,  at  the  same  time  that  he  "  fixed,"  to  use  the  glowing 
words  of  Chateaubriand,  "the  language  w^hich  Bossuet 
and  Racine  spoke,  and  furnished  a  model  of  the  most 
perfect  wit  as  well  as  of  the  closest  reasoning ;  and  in 
the  brief  intervals  of  his  pain  solved  by  abstraction  the 
highest  problems  of  geometry,  and  threw  on  paper 
thoughts  which  breathe  as  much  of  God  as  of  man." 
We  know,  too,  that  many  of  Hood's  most  humorous  pro- 
ductions were  dictated  to  his  wife,  while  he  himself  was 
in  bed  from  distressing  and  protracted  sickness.  His 
own  family  was  the  only  one  which  was  not  delighted  with 
the  Comic  Annual,  so  well  thumbed  in  every  house.  "  We 
ourselves,"  said  his  son,  "did  not  enjoy  it  till  the  lapse  of 
many  years  had  mercifully  softened  down  some  of  the 
sad  recollections  connected  with  it."  It  is  recorded  of 
him,  that  upon  a  mustard  plaster  being  applied  to  his  at- 
tenuated feet,  as  he  lay  in  the  direst  extremity,  he  was 
heard  feebly  to  remark,  that  there  was  "  very  little  meat 
for  the  mustard." 

Physical  suffering  having  had  so  much  to  do  with  so 
many  of  the  productions  of  genius,  is  it  hard  to  believe 
that  mental  anguish  may  not  have  contributed  even  more 
and  to  a  greater  number  ?  Literature  is  full  of  instances 
to  enforce  the  conclusion.   Mental  wretchednesses  of  every 


LAMB.  109 

description  connect  themselves  inseparably  with  the  mem- 
ory of  many  of  the  most  illustrious  names,  and  with  their 
greatest  achievements.  Curran,  for  instance,  at  the  very 
time  he  was  one  of  the  most  unhappy  and  melancholy 
of  men,  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  and  wonderful. 
What  a  talker  he  was !  Such  imagination  !  "  There 
never  was  any  thing  Hke  it,"  said  Byron,  "  that  I  ever  saw 
or  heard  of.  His  published  life,  his  published  speeches, 
give  you  no  idea  of  the  man  —  none  at  all.  He  was  a 
machine  of  imagination.  The  riches  of  it  were  exhaust- 
less.  I  have,"  said  the  poet,  "  heard  that  man  speak  more 
poetry  than  I  have  ever  seen  written,  though  I  saw  him 
seldom,  and  but  occasionally.  I  saw  him  presented  to 
Madame  de  Stael.  It  was  the  great  confluence  between 
the  Rhone  and  the  Saone."  Cervantes,  from  all  accounts, 
dragged  on  a  most  wretched  and  melancholy  existence. 
He  was  groaning  and  weeping  while  all  Spain  was  laugh- 
ing at  the  adventures  of  Don  Quixote  and  the  wise  say- 
ings of  Sancho  Panza.  The  great  Swift,  we  know,  was 
never  known  to  smile.  Butler's  private  history  was  but 
a  record  of  his  miseries.  Burns  confessed  that  his  de- 
sign in  seeking  society  was  to  fly  from  constitutional  mel- 
ancholy. "  Even  in  the  hour  of  social  mirth,"  he  tells  us, 
"my  gayety  is  the  madness  of  an  intoxicated  criminal 
under  the  hands  of  the  executioner."  The  author  of 
John  Gilpin  said  of  himself  and  that  humorous  poem, 
"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  most  ludicrous  lines  I  ever 
wrote  have  been  when  in  the  saddest  mood,  and  but  for 
that  saddest  mood,  perhaps,  would  never  have  been 
written  at  all."  While  it  was  being  read  by  Henderson, 
in  London,  to  large  audiences,  its  author  was  mad.  Jean 
Paul  wrote  a  great  part  of  a  comic  romance  in  an  agony 
of  heart-break  from  the  death  of  his  son.  Washington 
Irving  completed  that  most  extravagantly  humorous  of  all 
his  works  —  The  History  of  New  York  —  while  suffering 
from  the  death  of  his  sweetheart,  which  nearly  broke  his 


no  CHARACTERISTICS. 

heart.  The  fact,  therefore,  that  the  most  facetious  of  all 
Lamb's  letters  was  written  in  a  paroxysm  of  melancholy, 
amounting  almost  to  madness,  does  not  deserve  to  be 
called  curious,  but  is  only  another  instance  added  to  the 
list  that  might  easily  be  extended,  if  not  to  the  point  of 
tediousness,  certainly  beyond  the  purposes  of  this  paper. 

The  circumstances  of  Lamb's  life  were  awfully  de- 
pressing. Conceive  them  if  you  can.  Himself,  as  we 
have  said,  in  a  mad-house  for  a  short  time  at  the  end  of 
his  twentieth  year ;  his  sister  insane  at  intervals  through- 
out her  life ;  his  mother  hopelessly  bedridden  till  killed 
by  her  daughter  in  a  fit  of  frenzy  ;  his  father  pitifully  im- 
becile ;  his  old  maiden  aunt  home  from  a  rich  relation's 
to  be  nursed  till  she  died  —  all  dependent  upon  him,  his 
more  prosperous  brother  declining  to  bear  any  part  of  the 
burden ;  his  work  for  more  than  thirty  years  distasteful 
and  monotonous,  and  most  of  it  performed  at  the  same 
desk  in  the  same  office.  Imagine  his  loneliness  during 
all  those  thirty  dreary  years,  with  no  one  in  the  vast  es- 
tablishment at  all  congenial  to  him  that  we  hear  of ;  in- 
deed we  do  not  remember  that  he  any  where  refers  by 
name  to  any  one  employed  there  with  him.  Dr.  James 
Alexander,  describing  a  visit  to  the  India  House,  says  he 
inquired  for  Charles  Lamb  of  the  doorkeeper,  who  replied 
he  had  been  there  since  he  was  sixteen  years  old,  and 
had  never  heard  of  any  Mr.  Lamb.  But  the  doorkeeper 
of  the  British  Museum  knew  him  very  well. 

It  is  now  well-known  that  Lamb's  description  of  Lovel, 
in  one  of  his  essays,  is  an  accurate  description  of  his  own 
father.  It  helps  us  to  a  better  understanding  of  himself, 
besides  being  good  enough  to  read  over  and  over.  "  I 
knew  this  Lovel,"  he  says.  "  He  was  a  man  of  an  in- 
corrigible and  losing  honesty.  A  good  fellow  withal,  and 
*  would  strike.'  In  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  he  never 
considered  inequalities,  or  calculated  the  number  of  his 
opponents.     He  once  wrested  a  sword  out  of  the  hand  of 


LAMB.  Ill 

a  man  of  quality  that  had  drawn  upon  him,  and  pom- 
meled him  severely  with  the  hilt  of  it.  The  swordsman 
had  offered  insults  to  a  female  —  an  occasion  upon  which 
no  odds  against  him  could  have  prevented  the  interfer- 
ence of  Lovel.  He  w^ould  stand  next  day  bareheaded  to 
the  same  person,  modestly  to  excuse  his  interference  — 
for  L.  never  forgot  rank,  where  something  better  was  not 
concerned.  L.  was  the  liveliest  little  fellow  breathing,  had 
a  face  as  gay  as  Garrick's,  whom  he  was  said  greatly  to  re- 
semble (I  have  a  portrait  of  him  which  confirms  it),  pos- 
sessed a  fine  turn  for  humorous  poetry  —  next  to  Swift 
and  Prior  —  moulded  heads  in  clay  or  plaster  of  Paris  to 
admiration,  by  the  dint  of  natural  genius  merely;  turned 
cribbage  boards,  and  such  small  cabinet  toys,  to  perfec- 
tion ;  took  a  hand  at  quadrille  or  bowls  with  equal  facility  : 
made  punch  better  than  any  man  of  his  degree  in  Eng- 
land ;  had  the  merriest  quips  and  conceits  ;  and  was  alto- 
gether as  brimful  of  rogueries  and  inventions  as  you  could 
desire.  He  was  a  brother  of  the  angle,  moreover,  and 
just  such  a  free,  hearty,  honest  companion  as  Mr.  Izaak 
Walton  would  have  chosen  to  go  a-fishing  with.  I  saw 
him  in  his  old  age  and  the  decay  of  his  faculties,  palsy- 
smitten,  in  the  last  sad  stage  of  human  weakness — *a 
remnant  most  forlorn  of  what  he  was,'  —  yet  even  then 
his  eye  would  light  up  upon  the  mention  of  his  favorite 
Garrick.  He  was  greatest,  he  would  say,  in  Bayes  — 
*was  upon  the  stage  nearly  throughout  the  whole  per- 
formance, and  as  busy  as  a  bee.'  At  intervals,  too,  he 
would  speak  of  his  former  life,  and  how  he  came  up  a 
little  boy  from  Lincoln  to  go  to  service,  and  how  his 
mother  cried  at  parting  with  him,  and  how  he  returned, 
after  some  few  years'  absence,  in  his  smart  new  livery,  to 
see  herj  and  she  blessed  herself  at  the  change,  and  could 
hardly  be  brought  to  believe  that  it  was  *  her  own  bairn.' 
And  then,  the  excitement  subsiding,  he  would  weep,  till 
I  have  wished  that  sad  second  childhood  might  have  a 


112  CHARACTERISTICS. 

mother  still  to  lay  its  head  upon  her  lap.  But  the  com- 
mon mother  of  us  all  in  no  long  time  after  received  him 
gently  into  hers." 

The  circumstances  attending  the  death  of  Lamb's 
mother,  by  the  hand  of  his  sister,  were  reported  by  the 
coroner :  "  It  appeared,  by  the  evidence  adduced,  that, 
while  the  family  were  preparing  for  dinner,  the  young  lady 
seized  a  case-knife,  lying  on  the  table,  and  in  a  menacing 
manner  pursued  a  little  girl,  her  apprentice,  round  the 
room.  On  the  calls  of  her  infirm  mother  to  forbear,  she 
renounced  her  first  object,  and  with  loud  shrieks,  ap- 
proached her  parent.  The  child,  by  her  cries,  quickly 
brought  up  the  landlord  of  the  house,  but  too  late.  The 
dreadful  scene  presented  to  him  the  mother  lifeless, 
pierced  to  the  heart,  on  a  chair,  her  daughter  yet  wildly 
standing  over  her  with  the  fatal  knife,  and  the  old  man, 
her  father,  weeping  by  her  side,  himself  bleeding  at  the 
forehead  from  the  effects  of  a  severe  blow  he  received 
from  one  of  the  forks  she  had  been  madly  hurling  about 
the  room.  .  .  .  The  jury,  of  course,  brought  in  their  ver- 
dict—  Lunacy." 

Lamb's  own  account  of  the  dreadful  event,  to  Coleridge, 
is  extremely  touching  :  —  "  My  Dearest  Friend  :  White, 
or  some  of  my  friends,  or  the  public  papers,  by  this  time 
may  have  informed  you  of  the  terrible  calamities  that 
have  fallen  on  our  family.  I  will  only  give  you  the  out- 
lines :  My  poor  dear,  dearest  sister,  in  a  fit  of  insanity, 
has  been  the  death  of  her  own  mother.  I  was  at  hand 
only  time  enough  to  snatch  the  knife  out  of  her  grasp. 
She  is  at  present  in  a  mad-house,  from  whence  I  fear  she 
must  be  moved  to  an  hospital.  God  has  preserved  to  me 
my  senses  —  I  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep,  and  have  my 
judgment,  I  believe,  very  sound.  My  poor  father  was 
slightly  wounded,  and  I  am  left  to  take  care  of  him  and 
my  aunt.  .  .  .  Write  as  religious  a  letter  as  possible,  but 
no  mention  of  what  is  gone  and  done  with.     With  me. 


LAMB.  113 

*the  former  things  are  passed  away,'  and  I  have  some- 
thing more  to  do  than  to  feel.  .  .  .  Mention  nothing  of 
poetry.  I  have  destroyed  every  vestige  of  past  vanities 
of  that  kind.  Do  as  you  please,  but  if  you  publish,  pub- 
lish mine  (I  give  free  leave)  without  name  or  initial,  and 
never  send  me  a  book,  I  charge  you.  ...  I  charge  you, 
don't  think  of  coming  to  see  me.  Write.  I  will  not  see 
you  if  you  come.     God  Almighty  love  you  and  all  of  us." 

Whenever,  we  are  told,  the  approach  of  one  of  her  fits 
of  insanity  was  announced  by  some  irritability  or  change 
of  manner,  he  would  take  her  under  his  arm  to  Hoxton 
Asylum.  It  was  very  afflicting  to  encounter  the  young 
brother  and  his  sister  walking  together  (weeping  together) 
on  this  painful  errand ;  Mary  herself,  although  sad,  very 
conscious  of  the  necessity  for  temporary  separation  from 
her  only  friend.  They  used  to  carry  a  strait-jacket  with 
them. 

Dr.  Weddell,  in  the  account  of  his  travels  and  adven- 
tures in  South  Africa,  speaks  of  a  species  of  variegated 
woodpecker,  called  the  carpenter.  If  one  is  killed,  it  is 
rare  that  its  mate  does  not  come  and  place  itself  beside 
the  dead  body,  as  if  imploring  a  similar  fate.  Such  touch- 
ing fidelity  on  the  part  of  a  bird,  but  feebly  and  imper- 
fectly suggests  the  perpetual,  unwearying,  undying  devo- 
tion of  Lamb  to  his  poor  sister.  He  was  always  at  her 
side,  in  any  and  every  extremity,  and  there  was  no  sacri- 
fice that  he  did  not  stand  ready  to  make.  Year  after  year 
for  years,  he  was  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  friend, 
nurse,  comforter  —  every  thing  to  her. 

"  I  do  not  observe,"  says  Barry  Cornwall,  "more  than 
one  occasion  on  which  (being  then  himself  ill)  his  firm- 
ness seemed  altogether  to  give  way.  In  1798,  indeed,  he 
had  said,  '  I  consider  her  perpetually  on  the  brink  of  mad- 
ness.' But  in  May,  1800,  his  old  servant  Hetty  having 
died,  and  Mary  (sooner  than  usual)  falling  ill  again, 
Charles  was  obliged  to  remove  her  to  an  asylum ;  and 


1 14  CHARACTERISTICS. 

was  left  in  the  house  alone  with  Hetty's  dead  body.  *  My 
heart  is  quite  sick  (he  cries),  and  I  don't  know  where  to 
look  for  relief.  My  head  is  very  bad.  I  almost  wish  that 
Mary  were  dead.'  This  was  the  one  solitary  cry  of  an- 
guish that  he  uttered  during  his  long  years  of  anxiety  and 
suffering.  At  all  other  times  he  bowed  his  head  in  si- 
lence, uncomplaining." 

To  Coleridge  he  wrote,  "  Mary  will  get  better  again, 
but  her  constantly  being  liable  to  such  relapses  is  dread- 
ful ;  nor  is  it  the  least  of  our  evils  [they  v/ere  then  at 
Pentonville,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Holborn]  that  her 
case  and  all  our  story  is  so  well  known  around  us.  We 
are  in  a  manner  marked."  To  Manning  he  wrote,  about 
the  same  time,  "  It  is  a  great  object  to  me  to  live  in  town, 
where  we  shall  be  much  more  private,  and  to  quit  a  bouse 
and  a  neighborhood,  where  poor  Mary's  disorder,  so  fre- 
quently recurring,  has  made  us  a  sort  of  marked  people. 
We  can  be  nowhere  private  except  in  the  midst  of  Lon- 
don." 

Sensitive  natures,  like  Lamb's,  are  wretched  under  the 
social  microscope.  Hawthorne,  nearly  alike  sensitive, 
wrote  of  the  Eternal  City,  "  Rome  is  not  like  one  of  our 
New  England  villages,  where  we  need  the  permission  of 
each  individual  neighbor  for  every  act  that  we  do,  every 
word  that  we  utter,  and  every  friend  that  we  make  or 
keep."  It  is  rather  a  weary  thing  for  any  one  to  live 
under  the  microscope.  In  every  man's  life  are  there 
not  apartments  he  would  have  forever  locked,  the  keys 
forever  lost,  into 'which  he  himself  never  enters  but  by 
a  skeleton  ?  It  is  pleasant  sometimes  to  get  where  no 
one  knows  you,  nor  cares  a  brass  farthing  what  you  say 
or  do.  No  one  knew  better  than  Lamb,  shrinking  from 
microscopic  observation,  what  a  perfect  place  for  any 
wretchedness  is  a  great  city. 

No  man,  we  imagine,  ever  suffered  more  from  compas- 
sion, than  Lamb,  unless  it  was  Steele.     The  latter,  out  of 


LAMB.  115 

his  bitter  experience  called  it  shrewdly  the  best  disguise 
of  malice,  and  said  that  the  most  apposite  course  to  cry 
a  man  down  was  to  lament  him.  Lamb  had  a  great  dread 
of  being  lectured,  as  all  sensitive  people  have  naturally. 
A  lady,  we  are  told  —  a  sort  of  social  Mrs.  Fry  —  had 
been  for  some  time  lecturing  him  on  his  irregularities. 
At  last,  she  said :  "  But,  really,  Mr.  Lamb,  I  'm  afraid  all 
that  I  'm  saying  has  very  little  effect  on  you.  I'm  afraid 
from  your  manner  of  attending  to  it,  that  it  will  not  do 
you  much  good."  "No,  ma'am,"  said  Lamb,  "I  don't 
think  it  will.  But  as  all  that  you  have  been  saying  has 
gone  in  at  this  ear  (the  one  next  her)  and  out  at  the 
other,  I  dare  say  it  will  do  this  gentleman  a  great  deal  of 
good,"  turning  to  a  stranger  who  stood  on  the  other  side 
of  him.  The  advice  —  ill-timed  and  ill-applied,  no  doubt 
—  had  much  the  same  effect  that  the  whipping  had  upon 
the  German  soldier,  who  laughed  all  the  time  he  was  be- 
ing flogged.  When  the  officer,  at  the  end,  inquired  the 
cause  of  his  mirth,  he  broke  out  into  a  fresh  fit  of  laugh- 
ter, and  cried,  "  Why,  I  'm  the  wrong  man  !  " 

Impertinence,  or  offensive  interference  of  any  sort, 
Lamb  could  not  brook.  An  unpopular  head  of  a  depart- 
ment in  the  India  House  came  to  him  one  day  (perhaps 
at  the  very  time  he  was  engaged  on  one  of  his  inimitable 
essays  or  letters)  and  inquired,  "  Pray,  Mr.  Lamb,  what 
are  you  about  ? "  "  Forty,  next  birthday,"  said  Lamb. 
"  I  don't  like  your  answer,"  said  the  man.  "  Nor  I  your 
question,"  was  Lamb's  reply. 

He  did  not  like  to  have  the  epithet  "gentle  "  applied 
to  him.  Coleridge,  in  a  poem,  had  characterized  him  as 
"  My  gentle-hearted  Charles."  Lamb  replied,  "  For  God's 
sake  (I  never  was  more  serious),  don't  make  me  ridicu- 
lous any  more  by  terming  me  gentle-hearted  in  print,  or 
do  it  in  better  verses.  It  did  well  enough  five  years  ago 
when  I  came  to  see  you,  and  was  moral  coxcomb  enough 
at  the  time  you  wrote  the  lines,  to  feed  upon  such  epi- 


1 16  CHARACTERISTICS. 

thets  ;  but,  besides  that,  the  meaning  of  gentle  is  equiv- 
ocal at  best,  and  almost  always  means  poor  spirited  ;  the 
very  quality,  of  gentleness  is  abhorrent  to  such  vile  trump- 
etings.  My  sentiment  is  long  since  banished.  I  hope 
my  virtues  have  done  sucking.  I  can  scarce  think  but 
you  meant  it  in  joke.  I  hope  you  did,  for  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  think  you  could  think  to  gratify  me  by  such 
praise,  fit  only  to  be  a  cordial  to  some  green-sick  son- 
neteer." 

The  immediate  cause  of  Lamb's  insanity  was  his  love 
for  his  sweetheart,  Alice  W.,  as  he  delicately  calls  her. 
He  says  that  his  sister  would  often  "  lend  an  ear  to  his 
desponding,  love-sick  lay."  After  he  had  been  in  the 
asylum,  he  writes  to  Coleridge  that  his  "  head  ran  upon 
him,  in  his  madness,  as  much  almost  as  on  another  per- 
son [meaning  the  dear  one]  who  was  the  more  immediate 
cause  of  my  frenzy."  Later,  he  burned  the  "  little  jour- 
nal," as  he  called  it,  "  of  his  foolish  passion." 

It  must  have  been  at  about  this  time  that  Coleridge  had 
a  call  from  Lamb,  which  he  speaks  of  in  a  letter  to  Ma- 
tilda Betham.  "  I  had,"  he  says,  "  just  time  enough  to 
have  half  an  hour's  mournful  conversation  with  him.  He 
displayed  such  fortitude  in  his  manners,  and  such  a  rav- 
age of  mental  suffering  in  his  countenance,  that  I  walked 
off,  my  head  throbbing  with  long  weeping." 

Wretched  man  !  In  his  disordered  state  —  a  tempest 
of  agitation  —  events  sometimes  affected  him  most 
strangely.  In  a  letter  to  Southey  he  says,  "  I  was  at 
Hazlitt's  marriage,  and  had  like  to  have  been  turned  out 
several  times  during  the  ceremony.  Any  thing  awful 
makes  me  laugh." 

Ah !  poor  humanity  —  in  extremity  —  what  are  you  to 
say  of  it  ?  The  plague,  says  Bulwer,  breaks  out  at  Flor- 
ence, —  all  the  pious  virgins,  the  religious  matrons,  and 
even  the  sacred  sisters,  devoted  to  seclusion  and  God, 
give  themselves  up  in  a  species  of  voluptuous  delirium  to 


LAMB.  H7 

the  wildest  excesses  of  prostitution  and  debauch.  The 
same  pestilence  visits  Aix,  and  the  oldest  courtezans  of 
the  place  rush  in  pious  frenzy  to  the  hospitals,  and  devote 
themselves  to  the  certain  death  which  seizes  those  who 
attend  upon  the  sick. 

Yet,  who  but  Lamb  could  have  said  so  tender  a  word 
for  an  unfortunate  man  as  this  ?  —  addressed  also  to 
Southey :  "  Your  friend  John  May  has  formally  made 
kind  offers  to  Lloyd  of  serving  me  in  the  India  House, 
by  the  interest  of  his  friend,  Sir  Francis  Baring.  It  is 
not  likely  that  I  shall  ever  put  his  goodness  to  the  test 
on  my  own  account,  for  my  prospects  are  very  comfort- 
able. But  I  know  a  man,  a  young  man,  whom  he  could 
serve  through  the  same  channel,  and,  I  think,  would  be 
disposed  to  serve  if  he  were  acquainted  with  his  case. 
This  poor  fellow  (whom  I  know  just  enough  of  to  vouch 
for  his  strict  integrity  and  worth)  has  lost  two  or  three 
employments  from  illness,  which  he  cannot  regain.  He 
was  once  insane,  and,  from  the  distressful  uncertainty  of 
his  livelihood,  has  reason  to  apprehend  a  return  of  that 
malady.  He  has  been  for  some  time  dependent  on  a 
woman  whose  lodger  he  formerly  was,  but  who  can  ill 
afford  to  maintain  him  ;  and  I  know  that  on  Christmas 
night  last  he  actually  walked  about  the  streets  all  night, 
rather  than  accept  of  a  bed,  which  she  offered  him,  and 
offered  herself  to  sleep  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  in  conse- 
quence of  that  severe  cold,  he  is  laboring  under  a  bilious 
disorder,  besides  a  depression  of  spirits,  which  incapac- 
itates him  from  exertion  when  he  most  needs  it.  For 
God's  sake,  Southey,  if  it  does  not  go  against  you  to  ask 
favors,  do  it  now  ;  ask  it  as  for  me  ;  but  do  not  do  a  vio- 
lence to  your  feelings,  because  he  does  not  know  of  this 
application,  and  will  suffer  no  disappointment." 

You  know  what  he  did  for  John  Morgan  —  Coleridge's 
friend  —  whose  name  deserves  to  go  down  with  the 
Thrales,  the  Shaftesburys,  the  Abneys,  the  Gillmans,  the 


1 18  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Unwins,  and  others  who  have  afforded  kindly  shelter  to 
illustrious  men  of  excellence,  learning,  or  genius.  Mor- 
gan was  the  only  child  of  a  retired  spirit  merchant  of 
Bristol,  who  left  him  a  handsome  independence.  He  was, 
according  to  Cottle,  a  worthy  kind-hearted  man,  possessed 
of  more  than  an  average  of  reading  and  good  sense ; 
generally  respected,  and  of  unpresuming  manners.  He 
was  a  great  friend  and  admirer  of  Coleridge  ;  deploring 
his  habits,  and  laboring  to  correct  them.  Except  Mr. 
Gillman  there  was  no  individual  with  whom  Coleridge 
lived  gratuitously  so  much,  during  Morgan's  residence  in 
London,  extending  to  a  domestication  of  several  years. 
When  Morgan  removed  to  Calne,  in  Wiltshire,  for  a  long 
time  he  gave  Coleridge  an  asylum,  and  till  his  affairs, 
through  the  treachery  of  others,  became  involved,  Cole- 
ridge, through  him,  never  wanted  a  home.  Morgan,  after 
the  turn  of  the  wheel  of  fortune  till  the  day  of  his  death, 
was  supported  by  a  subscription,  set  on  foot,  and  con- 
tributed to  —  too  liberally,  no  doubt  —  by  Lamb. 

To  be  taken  into  Lamb's  favor  and  protection,  it  was 
said,  you  had  only  to  get  discarded,  defamed,  and 
shunned  by  every  body  else  ;  and  if  you  deserved  this 
treatment,  so  much  the  better.  "  If  I  may  venture  so  to 
express  myself,"  says  Patmore,  "  there  was  in  Lamb's  eye 
a  sort  of  sacredness  in  sin,  on  account  of  its  sure  ill- 
consequences  to  the  sinner ;  and  he  seemed  to  open  his 
arms  and  his  heart  to  the  rejected  and  reviled  of  man- 
kind in  a  spirit  kindred  at  least  with  that  of  the  Deity." 

"Take  life  too  seriously,  and  what  is  it  worth?"  asks 
Goethe,  in  Egmont.  "  If  the  morning  wake  us  to  no  new 
joys,  if  in  the  evening  we  have  no  pleasures,  is  it  worth 
the  trouble  of  dressing  and  undressing  ?  "  Lamb,  under 
the  most  discouraging  circumstances,  tried  always  to 
make  the  best  of  life.  You  remember  the  Spaniard  that 
Southey  tells  us  about,  who  always  put  on  his  spectacles 
when  about  to  eat  cherries,  that  they  might  look  bigger 


LAMB.  119 

and  more  tempting.  In  like  manner  Lamb  made  the 
most  of  his  enjoyments,  and  though  he  did  not  cast  his 
eyes  away  from  his  troubles,  he  packed  them  in  as  little 
compass  as  he  could  for  himself,  and  never  let  them  an- 
noy others. 

What  a  resource  to  him  Rickman  was  !  —  a  clerk  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  introduced  to  him  by  George  Dyer. 
"  This  Rickman,"  says  Lamb,  describing  him,  "  lives  in 
our  Buildings,  immediately  opposite  our  house  ;  the  finest 
fellow  to  drop  in  o'  nights,  about  nine  or  ten  o'clock  — 
cold  bread-and-cheese  time  —  just  in  the  wishing  time  of 
the  night,  when  you  wish  for  some  body  to  come  in,  with- 
out a  distinct  idea  of  a  probable  any  body.  Just  in  the 
nick,  neither  too  early  to  be  tedious,  nor  too  late  to  sit  a 
reasonable  time.  He  is  a  most  pleasant  hand  ;  a  fine 
rattling  fellow,  has  gone  through  life  laughing  at  solemn 
apes  ;  —  himself  hugely  literate,  oppressively  full  of  in- 
formation in  all  stuff  of  conversation,  from  matter  of  fact 
to  Xenophon  and  Plato  —  can  talk  Greek  with  Person, 
politics  with  Thelwall,  conjecture  with  George  Dyer,  non- 
sense with  me,  and  any  thing  with  any  body  ;  a  great 
farmer,  somewhat  concerned  in  an  agricultural  magazine 
—  reads  no  poetry  but  Shakespeare,  very  intimate  with 
Southey,  but  never  reads  his  poetry,  relishes  George 
Dyer,  thoroughly  penetrates  into  the  ridiculous  wherever 
found,  understands  the  first  time  (a  great  desideratum  in 
common  minds)  —  you  need  never  twice  speak  to  him ; 
does  not  want  explanations,  translations,  limitations,  as 
Professor  Goodwin  does  when  you  make  an  assertion ; 
up  to  any  thing ;  down  to  every  thing ;  whatever  sapit 
hominem.  A  perfect  man.  ...  a  species  in  one.  A 
new  class.  .  .  .  The  clearest-headed  fellow.  Fullest  of 
matter,  with  least  verbosity." 

And  here  a  word  or  two  about  Lamb's  friends  —  mostly 
an  odd  set  of  intellectual  worthies.  Coleridge  —  deep  in 
metaphysical  subtleties,  or  up  in  the  empyrean  ;  scholarly 


120  CHARACTERISTICS. 

George  Dyer  —  simple-hearted  as  my  Uncle  Toby  —  al- 
ways conjecturing  and  always  absent-minded  —  at  one 
time  emptying  the  contents  of  his  snuff-box  into  the  tea- 
pot, at  another  walking  straight  into  the  river  at  noonday ; 
Barton  —  the  healthful  friend,  and  good  Quaker  poet; 
Hazlitt  —  passionate  and  untamable  —  with  a  face  as 
pale  as  marble,  yet  pointed  at  as  the  "  pimpled  Haz- 
litt" —  who  never  tasted  any  thing  but  water,  yet  was 
held  up  as  an  habitual  gin-drinker  ;  Crabb  Robinson  — ■ 
with  the  most  hospitable  of  intellects  —  who  had  seen 
every  thing  and  every  body,  and  was  always  entertaining ; 
Talfourd  —  full  of  law  and  literature,  and  ever  ready  with 
his  reason  or  his  rhetoric  ;  Rickman  —  bounding,  as  you 
have  seen,  as  a  roe,  and  as  fresh  as  the  morning ;  Rough 

—  a  chronic  and  incurable  borrower,  to  whom  some  of 
Lamb's  most  amusing  letters  were  written  ;  Manning  — 
the  most  wonderful  of  all,  Lamb  said  ;  Barry  Cornwall  — 
who  wrote  sea  songs,  yet  was  rarely  if  ever  on  the  toss- 
ing element  —  whose  poetry,  it  was  said,  is  a  record  of  the 
extravagances  of  one  who  was  habitually  sober,  the  au- 
dacities of  one  who  was  habitually  cautious,  the  eloquence 
of  one  who  was  habitually  reserved ;  Godwin  —  who 
wrote  against  matrimony  and  was  twice  married,  and 
while  scouting  all  commonplace  duties,  was  a  good  hus- 
band and  kind  father ;  Lloyd  —  an  insane  poet,  who  took 
lodgings  at  a  working  brazier's  shop  to  distract  his  mind 
from  melancholy  and  postpone  his  madness  ;  Southey  — 
a  bookworm  and  a  bookmaker  —  who  loved  books  so 
well  that  some  of  his  last  hours  were  spent  caressing 
them;  De  Quincey  —  who  had  made  himself  famous  by 
inimitably  confessing   to  the   sin  of  opium  ;   Hammond 

—  an  incomprehensible  character,  who  journalized  his 
food,  his  sleep,  and  his  dreams  —  who  had  a  conviction 
that  he  was  to  have  been,  and  ought  to  have  been,  the 
greatest  of  men,  but  was  conscious  in  fact  that  he  was 
not  —  and  who  said,  the  chief  philosophical  value  of  his 


LAMB.  .  ft  I 

papers  consisted  in  the  fact  that  they  recorded  something 
of  a  mind  that  was  very  near  taking  a  station  far  above 
all  that  had  hitherto  appeared  in  the  world ;  Blake  — 
artist,  genius,  mystic,  madman  —  of  whom  it  was  said, 
he  possessed  the  highest  and  most  exalted  powers  of  the 
mind,  but  not  the  lower  —  who  could  fly,  but  could  not 
walk  —  who  had  genius  and  inspiration,  without  the  pro- 
saic balance-wheel  of  common  sense  —  who  all  his  life 
was  a  victim  of  poverty  and  privation,  but  who,  in  his  old 
age,  put  his  hands  on  the  head  of  a  little  girl,  and  said, 
"  May  God  make  this  world  to  you,  my  child,  as  beautiful 
as  it  has  been  to  me  ; "  and  Wordsworth  —  who  heard 
and  saw  in  abounding  nature  what  nobody  saw  or  heard 
but  himself  without  his  assistance — who  loved  himself 
chiefly,  and  disparaged  Burns,  and  even  Shakespeare,  as 
we  shall  see  ;  and  Hood  —  "  so  grave,  and  sad,  and 
silent  "  —  one  of  Lamb's  youngest  friends  ;  and  Cottle, 
the  kind  old  bookseller  ;  and  Munden,  his  favorite  com- 
edian ;  and  Liston  ;  and  Charles  Kemble  ;  and  Morgan ; 
and  Jem  White,  "  the  drollest  of  fellows,"  the  author  of 
the  Falstaif  Letters ;  and  the  passionate  Thelwall ;  and 
Clarkson,  the  destroyer  of  the  slave-trade;  and  Basil 
Montagu,  the  constant  opponent  of  the  judicial  inflic- 
tion of  death  ;  and  scholarly  Barnes,  the  editor  of  the 
Times  newspaper  ;  and  the  turbulent,  ambitious  Haydon  ; 
and  the  frank-hearted  Captain  Burney,  who  voyaged  round 
the  world  with  Captain  Cook  ;  and  stalwart  Allan  Cun- 
ningham;  and  Cary,  "pleasantest  of  clergymen,"  who 
"  rendered  the  adamantine  poetry  of  Dante  into  English  ; " 
and  the  Reverend  Edward  Irving;  and  the  easy-going, 
delightful  Leigh  Hunt  ;  and  ever  so  many  more,  only  a 
little  more  obscure,  —  all  of  whom  were  visitors,  friends, 
associates,  favorites,  or  pets,  of  Lamb  —  walking  with 
him  in  London  streets  —  talking  with  him  in  quiet  upper 
rooms,  all  about  books  and  authors,  plays  and  players, 
pictures  and  artists  —  any  thing  about  which  any  one  of 


122  CHARACTERISTICS. 

them  was  interested.  Nothing  is  easier  than  to  gossip 
about  these  interesting  characters,  —  always  interesting 
in  themselves,  but  especially  so  to  us  now,  on  account  of 
their  acquaintance  and  association  with  Lamb. 

His  literary  worli  was  mostly  done  for  occupation,  al- 
though he  did  hope  —  occasionally,  at  least  —  for  consid- 
erable pecuniary  remuneration  from  it.  His  plays  disap- 
pointed him  —  they  did  not  take  with  the  public.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  his  essays.  "  Present  time  and 
future,"  says  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  "  are  rivals  ;  he  who 
solicits  the  one,  must  expect  to  be  discountenanced  by 
the  other."  Willis,  breakfasting  at  the  Temple  with  a 
friend,  met  Lamb.  He  mentioned  having  bought  a 
copy  of  Elia  the  last  day  he  was  in  America,  to  send  as 
a  parting  gift  to  a  lady.  "  What  did  you  give  for  it  ? " 
said  Lamb.  "  About  seven  and  sixpence."  "  Permit 
me  to  pay  you  that,"  said  he ;  and  with  the  utmost  ear- 
nestness he  counted  out  the  money  upon  the  table.  "  I 
never  yet  wrote  any  thing  that  would  sell.  I  am  the  pub- 
lishers' ruin."  "  To  be  neglected  by  his  contemporaries," 
said  Macaulay,  speaking  of  Milton,  "was  the  penalty 
which  he  paid  for  surpassing  them." 

His  literary  expedients  were  many,  and  some  of  them 
were  very  curious.  "  Coleridge,"  he  says,  in  a  letter  to 
Manning,  "has  lugged  me  to  the  brink  of  engaging  to  a 
newspaper,  and  has  suggested  to  me  for  a  first  plan,  the 
forgery  of  a  supposed  manuscript  of  Burton,  the  anato- 
mist of  melancholy.  I  have  even  written  the  introduc- 
tory letter ;  and,  if  I  can  pick  up  a  few  guineas  in  this 
way,  I  feel  they  will  be  most  refreshing,  bread  being  so 
dear." 

Although  he  felt  the  need  of  money,  and  was  con- 
stantly in  some  literary  employment,  he  fully  realized  the 
miseries  of  subsisting  by  authorship.  "  'T  is  a  pretty 
appendage  to  a  situation  like  yours  or  mine,"  he  wrote  to 
Barton ;  "  but  a  slavery,  worse  than  all  slavery,  to  be  a 


LAMB.  •         123 

bookseller *s  dependent,  to  drudge  your  brains  for  pots  of 
ale,  and  breasts  of  mutton,  to  change  your  free  thoughts 
and  voluntary  numbers  for  ungracious  task-work.  These 
fellows  hate  us.  The  reason  I  take  to  be,  that  contrary 
to  other  trades,  in  which  the  master  gets  all  the  credit, 
(a  jeweler  or  silversmith  for  instance,)  and  the  journey- 
man, who  really  does  the  fine  work,  is  in  the  background ; 
in  our  work  the  world  gives  all  the  credit  to  us,  whom 
they  consider  as  their  journeymen,  and  therefore  do  they 
hate  us,  and  cheat  us,  and  oppress  us,  and  would  wring 
the  blood  of  us  out,  to  put  another  sixpence  in  their  me- 
chanic pouches." 

The  best  of  his  literary  achievements,  no  doubt,  are 
owing  to  the  very  necessity  of  occupation.  In  his  isola- 
tion and  dreariness  and  gloom,  he  wrote  and  wrote  to 
keep  his  mind  from  preying  on  itself.  You  remember 
the  story  of  the  black  pin  which  the  lady  wore  as  a 
brooch  —  repeated  some  time  ago  by  Holmes  in  one  of 
his  happy  little  speeches.  Her  husband  had  been  con- 
fined in  prison  for  some  political  offense.  He  was  left 
alone  with  his  thoughts  to  torture  him.  No  voice,  no 
book,  no  implement  —  silence,  darkness,  misery,  sleepless 
self-torment ;  and  soon  it  must  be  madness.  All  at  once 
he  thought  of  something  to  occupy  these  terrible  unsleep- 
ing faculties.  He  took  a  pin  from  his  -neckcloth  and 
threw  it  upon  the  floor.  Then  he  groped  for  it.  It  was 
a  little  object,  and  the  search  was  a  long  and  laborious 
one.  At  last  he  found  it,  and  felt  a  certain  sense  of  sat- 
isfaction in  difficulty  overcome.  But  he  had  found  a  great 
deal  more  than  a  pin  —  he  had  found  an  occupation,  and 
every  day  he  would  fling  it  from  him  and  lose  it,  and 
hunt  for  it,  and  at  last  find  it,  and  so  he  saved  himself 
from  going  mad :  and  you  will  not  wonder  that  when  he 
was  set  free  and  gave  the  little  object  to  which  he  owed 
his  reason  and,  perhaps,  his  life,  to  his  wife,  she  had  it 
set  round  with  pearls  and  wore  it  next  her  heart. 


124  CHARACTERISTICS. 

His  monotonous,  uninteresting,  tread-mill  work  at  the 
office,  it  is  easy  to  understand,  became  very  oppressive 
to  him,  and  finally  nearly  unendurable.  "  My  head  is  in 
such  a  state  from  incapacity  for  business,"  wrote  he  to 
Miss  Betham,  "  that  I  certainly  know  it  to  be  my  duty 
not  to  undertake  the  veriest  trifle  in  addition.  I  hardly 
know  how  I  can  go  on.  I  have  tried  to  get  some  redress 
by  explaining  my  health,  but  with  no  great  success.  No 
one  can  tell  how  ill  I  am  because  it  does  not  come  out  to 
the  exterior  of  my  face,  but  lies  in  my  skull  deep  and  in- 
visible. I  wish  I  was  leprous,  and  black-jaundiced  skin- 
over,  and  that  all  was  as  well  within  as  my  cursed  looks. 
You  must  not  think  me  worse  than  I  am.  I  am  deter- 
mined not  to  be  over-set,  but  to  give  up  business  rather, 
and  get  'em  to  allow  me  a  trifle  for  services  past.  O  that 
I  had  been  a  shoemaker  or  a  baker,  or  a  man  of  large 
independent  fortune.  O  darling  laziness  !  heaven  of  Ep- 
icurus !  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest !  that  I  could  drink  vast 
potations  of  thee  through  unmeasured  Eternity  —  Otium 
cum  vel  sine  dignitate.  Scandalous,  dishonorable,  any 
kind  of  repose.  I  stand  not  upon  the  dignified  sort. 
Accursed,  damned  desks,  trade,  commerce,  business.  In- 
ventions of  that  old  original  busy-body,  brain-working 
Satan  —  Sabbathless,  restless  Satan.  A  curse  relieves  : 
do  you  ever  try  it  ? " 

In  a  letter  to  Barton  he  thus  wails  out  his  distresses : 
"Of  time,  health,  and  riches,  the  first  in  order  is  not  last 
in  excellence.  Riches  are  chiefly  good,  because  they  give 
us  Time.  What  a  weight  of  wearisome  prison-hours  have 
I  to  look  back  and  forward  to,  as  quite  cut  out  of  life  ! 
and  the  sting  of  the  thing  is,  that  for  six  hours  every  day 
I  have  no  business  which  I  could  not  contract  into  two, 
if  they  would  let  me  work  task-work." 

But,  let  us  say,  for  the  "  weight  of  wearisome  prison- 
hours,"  we  should  never  have  had  his  precious  letters.  To 
Walter  Wilson,  one  of  the  friends  of  his  youth,  he  wrote  • 


LAMB.  125 

"  I  have  a  habit  of  never  writing  letters  but  at  the  office  ; 
*tis  so  much  time  cribbed  out  of  the  company."  He 
sometimes  spent  a  week  at  a  time  in  elaborating  a  single 
humorous  letter.     He  was  hunting  the  brooch. 

Release  came  at  length,  but  it  was  no  better  with  him. 
He  found  no-work  worse  even  than  over-work.  To  Bar- 
ton he  wrote  :  "  I  pity  you  for  over-work,  but,  I  assure 
you,  no  work  is  worse.  The  mind  preys  on  itself,  the 
most  unwholesome  food.  I  bragged  formerly  that  I  could 
not  have  too  much  time.  I  have  a  surfeit.  With  but  few 
years  to  come,  the  days  are  wearisome.  But  weariness  is 
not  eternal.  Something  will  shine  out  to  take  the  load 
off  that  flags  me,  which  is  at  present  intolerable.  I  have 
killed  an  hour  or  two  in  this  poor  scrawl." 

As  to  his  indulgences,  regrets,  and  indecision,  he  has 
spoken  for  himself.  He  wrote  to  Manning,  "I  have  been 
ill  more  than  a  month,  with  a  bad  cold,  which  comes  upon 
me  (like  a  murderer's  conscience)  about  midnight,  and 
vexes  me  for  many  hours.  ...  I  am  afraid  I  must  leave 
off  drinking."  To  Hazlitt  he  said,  at  the  end  of  a  letter, 
"  I  am  going  to  leave  off  smoke.  In  the  meantime  I  am 
so  smoky  with  last  night's  ten  pipes,  that  I  must  leave 
off." 

Ah !  these  medicines  for  the  mind.  Easily  indulged, 
bitterly  lamented,  hardly  avoided.  In  such  cases  as  poor 
Lamb's,  a  sentence  from  one  of  his  own  favorite  authors 
is  peculiarly  fitting  :  "  In  speaking  of  the  dead,  so  fold 
up  your  discourse  that  their  virtues  may  be  outwardly 
shown,  while  their  vices  are  wrapped  up  in  silence."  "  He 
shall  be  immortal,"  said  old  Thomas  Fuller,  "  who  liveth 
to  be  stoned  by  one  without  fault." 

He  drank  wine  only  during  dinner  —  none  after  it. 
Over  him,  at  one  period  of  his  life,  "  there  passed  regu- 
larly," says  De  Quincey,  "after  taking  wine,  a  brief 
•eclipse  of  sleep.  It  descended  upon  him  as  softly  as  a 
shadow.     In  a  gross  person,  laden  with  superfluous  flesh, 


1 26  CHARACTERISTICS. 

and  sleeping  heavily,  this  would  have  been  disagreeable ; 
but  in  Lamb,  thin  even  to  meagreness,  spare  and  wiry  as 
an  Arab  of  the  desert,  or  as  Thomas  Aquinas,  wasted  by 
scholastic  vigils,  the  affection  of  sleep  seemed  rather  a 
net-work  of  aerial  gossamer  than  of  earthly  cobweb  — 
more  like  a  golden  haze  falling  upon  him  gently  from  the 
heavens  than  a  cloud  exhaling  upwards  from  the  flesh. 
Motionless  in  his  chair  as  a  bust,  breathing  so  gently  as 
scarcely  to  seem  certainly  alive,  he  presented  the  image 
of  repose  midway  between  life  and  death,  like  the  repose 
of  sculpture  ;  and  to  one  who  knew  his  history,  a  repose 
affectingly  contrasting  with  the  calamities  and  internal 
storms  of  his  life.  I  have  heard  more  persons,"  con- 
tinues De  Quincey,  "than  I  can  now  distinctly  recall, 
observe  of  Lamb  when  sleeping,  that  his  countenance  in 
that  state  assumed  an  expression  almost  seraphic,  from 
its  intellectual  beauty  of  outline,  its  childlike  simplicity 
and  its  benignity.  It  could  not  be  called  a  transfigu- 
ration that  sleep  had  worked  in  his  face  ;  for  the  features 
wore  essentially  the  same  expression  when  waking ;  but 
sleep  spiritualized  that  expression,  exalted  it,  and  also 
harmonized  it." 

It  was  Coleridge,  who,  after  smoking  tobacco  after 
dinner,  went  to  sleep  on  a  sofa,  where  the  company  found 
him,  to  their  no  small  surprise,  which  was  increased  to 
wonder,  when  he  started  up  of  a  sudden,  and  rubbing  his 
eyes,  looked  about  him,  and  launched  into  a  three  hours' 
description  of  the  third  heaven,  of  which  he  had  had  a 
dream. 

All  accounts  represent  Lamb  as  one  of  the  most  punc- 
tual of  men,  although  he  never  carried  a  watch.  A  friend 
observing  the  absence  of  this  usual  adjunct  of  a  business 
man's  atlire,  presented  him  with  a  new  gold  one,  which 
he  accepted  (no  doubt  reluctantly)  and  carried  for  one 
day  only.  A  colleague  asked  him  what  had  become  of 
it.     "  Pawned,"  was  the  reply.     He  had  actually  pawned 


LAMB.  127 

the  watch,  finding  it  a  useless  encumbrance.  Nobody- 
knows  how  much  his  necessities  had  to  do  with  that  man- 
ner of  disposing  of  the  article  ;  or  perhaps  pride,  which, 
you  remember,  made  proud  old  Sam  Johnson  reject  the 
new  shoes  which  an  officious  or  inconsiderate  friend  had 
placed  at  his  chamber  door. 

Lamb  was  never  introduced  to  Scott ;  but  we  are  told 
he  used  to  speak  with  gratitude  and  pleasure  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  he  saw  him  once  in  Fleet-street. 
A  man,  in  the  dress  of  a  mechanic,  stopped  him  just  at 
Inner  Temple-gate,  and  said,  touching  his  hat,  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  but  perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  Sir 
Walter  Scott ;  that  is  he  just  crossing  the  road  ; "  and 
Lamb  stammered  out  his  hearty  thanks  to  his  truly  hu- 
mane informer. 

He  literally  loved  books,  and  every  thing  pertaining  to 
them.  Sometimes  —  in  a  way  scarcely  discernible  —  he 
would,  kiss  a  volume  of  Burns  ;  as  he  would  also  a  book 
by  Chapman,  or  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  or  any  other  which  he 
particularly  valued.  "  I  have  seen  him,"  said  Procter, 
*'read  out  passages  from  the  Holy  Dying  and  the  Urn 
Burial,  and  express  in  the  same  way  his  devotion  and 
gratitude." 

We  all  know  his  supreme  devotion  to  Shakespeare. 
In  a  letter  to  Talfourd,  he  says  that  Wordsworth,  who 
worshiped  nobody  but  himself,  affected  to  slight  Shake- 
speare —  said  he  was  a  clever  man,  but  his  style  had  a 
great  deal  of  trick  in  it,  and  that  he  could  imitate  him  if 
he  had  a  mind  to.  "  So  you  see,"  said  Lamb,  "  there  's 
nothing  wanting  but  the  mind." 

Of  Lamb's  pathos,  and  deep  religious  feeling,  we  give 
one  interesting  example,  recorded  by  Hazlitt.  Speaking, 
in  conversation,  of  Judas  Iscariot,  Lamb  said  :  "  I  would 
fain  see  the  face  of  him,  who,  having  dipped  his  hand  in 
the  same  dish  with  the  Son  of  Man,  could  afterward  be- 
tray him.     I  have  no  conception  of  such  a  thing;   nor 


128  CHARACTERISTICS. 

have  I  ever  seen  any  picture  (not  even  Leonardo's  very- 
fine  one)  that  gave  me  the  least  idea  of  it."  ..."  There 
is  only  one  other  person  I  can  ever  think  of  after  this," 
continued  Lamb ;  but  without  mentioning  a  name  that 
once  put  on  a  semblance  of  mortality.  "  If  Shakespeare 
was  to  come  into  the  room,  we  should  all  rise  up  to  meet 
him ;  but  if  that  person  was  to  come  into  it,  we  should 
all  fall  down  and  try  to  kiss  the  hem  of  his  garment." 

*'  Lamb's  essays,  the  gossip  of  creative  genius,"  says 
an  acute  critic,  "  are  of  a  piece  with  the  records  of  his 
life  and  conversation.  Whether  saluting  his  copy  of 
Chapman's  Homer  with  a  kiss,  —  or  saying  a  grace  before 
reading  Milton,  —  or  going  to  the  theatre  to  see  his  own 
farce  acted,  and  joining  in  the  hisses  of  the  pit  when  it 
fails,  —  or  eagerly  wondering  if  the  Ogles  of  Somerset 
are  not  descendants  of  King  Lear,  —  or  telling  Barry 
Cornwall  not  to  invite  a  lugubrious  gentleman  to  dinner 
because  his  face  would  cast  a  damp  over  a  funeral,  —  or 
giving  as  a  reason  why  he  did  not  leave  off  smoking,  the 
difficulty  of  finding  an  equivalent  vice,  —  or  striking  into 
a  hot  controversy  between  Coleridge  and  Holcroft,  as  to 
whether  man  as  he  is,  or  man  as  he  is  to  be,  is  preferable, 
and  settling  the  dispute  by  saying,  '  Give  me  man  as  he 
is  not  to  be,'  —  or  doing  some  deed  of  kindness  and  love 
with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  a  pun  on  his  lips,  —  he  is 
always  the  same  dear,  strange,  delightful  companion  and 
friend.  He  is  never  —  the  rogue  —  without  a  scrap  of 
logic  to  astound  common  sense.  *  Mr.  Lamb,'  says  the 
head  clerk  at  the  India  House,  'you  come  down  very 
late  in  the  morning ! '  '  Yes,  sir,'  Mr.  Lamb  replies,  '  but 
then  you  know  I  go  home  very  early  in  the  afternoon  ! '  " 

When  reminded  by  his  sister  of  the  days  when  they 
were  poor,  and  capable  of  enjoying  every  little  treat  with 
the  keenest  relish,  so  different  from  the  days  when  they 
were  rich,  stately  and  dull,  he  said,  "Well,  Bridget,  since 
we  are  in  easy  circumstances,  we  must  just  endeavor  to  put 


LAMB.  129 

up  with  it."  On  a  certain  occasion  he  blandly  proposed 
to  his  friend  who  offered  to  wrap  up  for  him  a  bit  of  old 
cheese  which  he  had  seemed  to  like  at  dinner,  to  let  him 
have  a  bit  of  string  with  which  he  could  probably  "  lead 
it  home."  He  said  to  Coleridge,  "  You  are  one  of  the 
most  perfect  of  men,  with  only  this  one  slight  fault,  that 
if  you  have  any  duty  to  do,  you  never  do  it."  You  re- 
member his  objection  to  brandy-and-water,  —  "  It  spoiled 
two  good  things."  Crabb  Robinson,  just  called  to  the 
.bar,  told  Lamb  exultingly,  that  he  was  retained  in  a  cause 
in  the  King's  Bench.  "  Ah,"  said  Lamb,  "  the  great  first 
cause,  least  understood."  Some  one  spoke  of  a  Miss 
Pate,  when  Lamb  inquired  if  she  was  any  relation  of 
Mrs.  John  Head  of  Ipswich.  A  person  in  his  company 
said  something  about  his  grandmother.  "Was  she  a  tall 
woman  ?  "  said  Lamb.  "  I  don't  know  ;  no.  Why  do 
you  ask } "  "  Oh,  mine  was ;  she  was  a  granny  dear.'* 
Running  on  ludicrously  about  some  lady  who  had  died  of 
^^^  love  for  him,  he  said,  he  "  was  very  sorry,  but  we  could 
^^vHOt  command  such  inclinations."  A  lady  who  had  been 
visiting  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ipswich,  on  her  return 
could"~tiiJk  of  nothing  else  but  the  beauty  of  the  country 
and  the  Writs  of  the  people.  Lamb  remarked  that  she 
was  "  Suffolfe^.ted."  Like  Dr.  Johnson,  he  disliked  the 
country.  "  A  garden,"  he  said,  "  was  the  primitive  prison, 
till  man,  with  Promethean  felicity  and  boldness,  luckily 
sinned  himself  out  of  it."  One  of  his  odd  sayings  is  re- 
ported by  Macready,  —  tnat  "  the  last  breath  he  drew  in 
he  wished  might  be  through  a  pipe  and  exhaled  in  a  pun." 
You  have  heard  of  his  defense  of  lying,  related  by  Leigh 
Hunt,  that  "  Truth  was  precious,  and  not  to  be  wasted  on 
every  body."  "  Hang  the  age,"  he  wrote  after  one  of  his 
literary  failures,  "  I  will  write  for  antiquity."  "  One  can- 
not bear,"  he  said,  "  to  pay  for  articles  he  used  to  get  for 
nothing.  When  Adam  laid  out  his  first  penny  for  non- 
pareils at  some  stall  in  Mesopotamia,  I  think  it  went  hard 


130  CHARACTERISTICS. 

with  him,  reflecting  upon  his  old  goodly  orchard,  where 
he  had  so  many  for  nothing."  "  The  water-cure,"  he  said, 
"  is  neither  new  nor  wonderful,  but  it  is  as  old  as  the 
Deluge,  which,  in  my  opinion,  killed  more  than  it  cured." 

But  Lamb's  "  witty  and  curious  sayings,"  says  Talfourd, 
"  give  no  idea  of  the  general  tenor  of  his  conversation, 
which  was  far  more  singular  and  delightful  in  the  traits, 
which  could  never  be  recalled,  than  in  the  epigrammatic 
turns  which  it  is  possible  to  quote.  It  was  fretted  into 
perpetual  eddies  of  verbal  felicity  and  happy  thought, 
with  little  tranquil  intervals  reflecting  images  of  exceed- 
ing elegance  and  grace." 

His  serious  conversation,  like  his  serious  writing,  is 
said  to  have  been  his  best.  Yet  no  one,  it  is  stated,  "  ever 
stammered  out  such  fine,  piquant,  deep,  eloquent  things 
in  half-a-dozen  half  sentences  ;  his  jests  scald  like  tears, 
and  he  probes  a  question  with  a  play  on  words." 

"  Charles  Lamb  is  gone,"  lamented  De  Quincey  ;  "his 
life  was  a  continued  struggle  in  the  service  of  love  the 
purest,  and  within  a  sphere  visited  by  little  of  contempo- 
rary applause.  Even  his  intellectual  displays  won  but  a 
narrow  sympathy  at  any  time,  and  in  his  earlier  period 
were  saluted  with  positive  derision  and  contumely  on  the 
few  occasions  when  they  were  not  oppressed  by  entire 
neglect.  But  slowly  all  things  right  themselves.  All 
merit,  which  is  founded  in  truth,  and  is  strong  enough, 
reaches  by  sweet  exhalations  in  the  end  a  higher  sensory ; 
reaches  higher  organs  of  discernment,  lodged  in  a  selecter 
audience.  But  the  original  obtuseness  or  vulgarity  of 
feeling  that  thwarted  Lamb's  just  estimation  in  life,  will 
continue  to  thwart  its  popular  diffusion.  There  are  even 
some  that  continue  to  regard  him  with  the  old  hostility. 
And  we,  therefore,  standing  by  the  side  of  Lamb's  grave, 
seemed  to  hear,  on  one  side,  (but  in  abated  tones,)  strains 
of  the  ancient  malice  —  *  This  man,  that  thought  himself 
to  be  somebody,  is  dead  —  is  buried  —  is  forgotten  ! '  and, 


LAMB.  131 

on  the  other  side,  seemed  to  hear  ascending,  as  with  the 
solemnity  of  an  anthem  —  *  This  man,  that  thought  him- 
self to  be  nobody,  is  dead  —  is  buried  ;  his  life  has  been 
searched ;  and  his  memory  is  hallowed  forever ! '  " 


VI. 

BURNS. 

A  DISTINGUISHED  gentleman  asked  a  poor  man,  whom 
he  overtook  on  a  visit  to  the  birth-place  of  Robert  Burns, 
—  "  Can  you  explain  to  me  what  it  is  that  makes  Burns 
such  a  favorite  with  you  all  in  Scotland?  Other  poets 
you  have,  and  great  ones,  but  I  do  not  perceive  the  same 
instant  flash,  as  it  were,  of  an  electric  feeling  when  any 
name  is  named  but  that  of  Burns."  "  I  can  tell  you," 
said  the  man,  "  what  it  is.  It  is  because  he  had  the  heart 
of  a  man  in  him.  He  was  all  heart  and  all  man ;  and 
there 's  .nothing,  at  least  in  a  poor  man's  experience, 
either  bitter  or  sweet,  which  can  happen  to  him,  but  a 
line  of  Burns  springs  into  his  mouth,  and  gives  him 
courage  and  comfort  if  he  needs  it.  It  is  like  a  second 
Bible." 

The  reply  of  the  peasant  explains,  in  a  few  words,  the 
popularity  and  growing  fame  of  the  poet.  Everywhere, 
wherever  men  live  and  Burns  is  known,  he  is  and  will  be, 
we  believe,  the  acknowledged  poet  of  humanity.  Scotch- 
men especially,  —  on  every  spot  of  civilized  earth,  the 
same  as  in  Scotland,  —  love  him  and  quote  him,  and  ever 
will  love  and  quote  him,  particularly  in  every  extremity 
of  ill-fortune.  He  was  the  one  exceptional  fearless  man, 
conceived  by  one  of  his  countrymen,  who  had  uttered 
feelings  and  thoughts  participated  in  by  the  whole  human 
race,  and  was  the  mouth  of  a  dumb  humanity. 

When  a  very  young  man  it  was  our  good  fortune  to  re- 
ceive occasional  nocturnal  visits  from  an  itinerant  Scotch 
clock-tinker,  who  highly  entertained  us  with  readings  and 


BURNS.  133 

recitations  from  Burns.  He  was  very  poor,  but  seemed 
content  with  the  very  scanty  living  that  his  humble  occu- 
pation brought  him.  His  figure  we  can  see  now,  in  all 
its  proportions,  as  we  saw  it  then,  by  the  light  of  a  tallow 
candle,  in  a  little  upper  room  in  an  Ohio  village.  His 
head,  especially,  is  vividly  in  memory.  It  was  colossal, 
in  comparison  with  common  heads,  and  would  have  been 
picked  out  from  an  hundred  thousand  as  in  every  way  re- 
markable. It  was  one  of  those  two-storied  heads  that 
Holmes  talks  so  suggestively  about,  with  the  advantage 
or  disadvantage  of  having  its  upper  story  most  commo- 
dious and  best  occupied.  The  top  of  it  rose  like  Walter 
Scott's,  and  his  brow  had  the  expression  that  Socrates* 
had,  as  shown  in  the  bust  we  have  of  the  philosopher. 
His  face,  though  rather  a  hard  one  in  repose,  warmed 
and  glowed  under  the  inspiration  of  his  beloved  poet,  as 
the  great  Stockton's  did  in  the  sublime  passages  of  his 
sermons.  The  subtlest  meanings  were  echoed  by  his 
varying  emphasis ;  and  responsive  tears  flowed  down  his 
weather-beaten  cheeks.  When  he  gave  a  convivial  song, 
your  ear  caught  the  resounding  laughter ;  when  he  recited 
a  love  ditty,  you  heard  the 

"  Youthful,  loving,  modest  pair, 
In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale, 
Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  evening  gale  ; " 

when  he  read  a  pitiless  satire,  you  saw  the  miserable  pre- 
tender writhing  under  the  poet's  lash ;  when  he  repeated 
a  passage  full  of  all  humanity  and  Christian  charity,  the 
pathetic  tenderness  of  his  accents  stirred  the  very  foun- 
tains of  feeling ;  when  he  read  a  lamentation  upon  pov- 
erty, you  understood  at  once  the  reconcilement  the  poet 
so  feelingly  expresses  of  penury  with  death ;  and  when 
he  sang,  with  prodigious  emphasis  and  spirit,  that  best  of 
all  war-songs,  Bruce's  Address,  you  felt  the  truth  of  the 
tradition,  that  the  famous  air  was  indeed  the  hero's  march 
at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  and  that  the  words  were 


134  CHARACTERISTICS. 

the  veritable  language  addressed  by  the  gallant  royal 
Scot  to  his  heroic  followers  on  that  eventful  morning. 
The  honest  old  man,  who  was  so  kind  as  to  seek  us  out 
in  that  solitary  upper  room,  always  met  with  a  generous 
welcome,  a  warm  fire,  and  a  pot  of  good  ale  from  Father 
Bowers',  which  helped  him,  for  the  time  being,  to  forget 
his  patches  and  his  hard  lot,  and  to 
"  Snatch  a  taste 
Of  truest  happiness."  ^ 

Burns,  to  him  —  the  good  clock-tinker  —  was  indeed  "  like 
a  second  Bible." 

The  learned  Judge  Rodgers  once  related  to  us  a  death- 
bed incident  of  a  neighbor  of  his,  —  another  poor,  honest 
Scotchman,  a  woodsawyer,  —  whose  inspiration  and  sol- 
ace, all  through  his  hard  life,  had  been  Scotia's  great 
poet.  The  good  man,  worn  out  and  weary,  was  told  by 
his  physician  that  his  last  hour  had  come  —  that  he  must 
soon  die.  He  received  the  announcement  philosoph- 
ically ;  and  after  naming  a  few  things  for  which  he  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  live,  he  said  to  the  judge  —  about  the 
last  thing  he  said  on  earth  —  "  Yes,"  (with  a  glowing  face 
and  a  grasp  of  the  hand,)  "  for  these  things  I  should  like 
to  live  ;  but  —  but  —  judge  "  (they  had  many  a  time 
read  the  poet  together,)  —  "I  shall  see  —  Burns  !  "  To 
the  honest  woodsawyer  also,  Bums  was  "  like  a  second 
Bible." 

In  the  Central  Park,  New  York,  is  a  piece  of  statuary 
(removed,  we  believe,  from  its  conspicuous  place,  on  ac- 
count of  injury  by  the  weather,  and  suffering  somewhat 
by  fire  in  the  building  where  it  was  placed  for  protection) 
representing  the  meeting  of  two  friends  —  Scotchmen. 
The  figures,  as  we  remember  them,  are  about  half  nat- 
ural size,  cut  in  light-colored  sandstone.  Traveling-bag, 
hat,  and  dog,  are  hard  by.  The  friends  are  seated  at  a 
table,  and  are  taking 

"  A  cup  o'  kindness  yet. 
For  auld  lang  syne." 


BURNS.  135 

And  they  are  grasping  hands,  —  the  whole  illustrating  the 
verse  — 

"  An'  here  's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fiere, 
An'  gie  's  a  hand  o'  thine  ; 
An'  we  '11  tak'  a  right  guid  willie-waught, 
For  auld  lang  syne." 

Happy  the  sculptor  so  fortunate  as  to  choose  a  subject 
expressing  the  friendly  feeling  of  all  mankind  ;  especially 
happy  in  wedding  his  art  to  Burns'  immortal  verse.  Go 
when  you  would,  early  or  late,  you  always  found  a  rapt 
crowd  surrounding  the  interesting  work. 

All  his  life  in  the  jaws  of  need,  Burns  knew  how  to 
feel  for  the  poor  and  poverty-stricken.  The  circum- 
stances even  of  his  birth,  were  wretched.  While  his 
mother  was  yet  on  the  straw,  the  miserable  clay  cottage 
fell  above  her  and  the  infant  bard,  who  both  narrowly 
escaped,  first  being  smothered  to  death,  and  then  of  being 
killed  by  cold,  as  they  were  conveyed  through  frost  and 
snow  by  night  to  another  dwelling.  Every  day  the  pov- 
erty of  the  family  increased.  The  cattle  died,  the  crops 
failed,  debts  accumulated.  They  lived  so  sparingly  that 
butchers'-meat  was  nearly  unknown  to  the  family  for 
years.  The  poet  describes  his  life,  until  his  sixteenth 
year,  as  "the  cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit,  with  the  un- 
ceasing moil  of  a  galley-slave."  "  Stubborn,  ungainly 
integrity,  and  headlong  ungovernable  irascibility,"  inter- 
fered seriously  with  his  father's  success  in  the  world  ; 
they  made  him  poor  and  kept  him  so.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-three  Robert  set  out  for  himself.  He  "joined  a 
flaxdresser  in  a  neighboring  town  to  learn  his  trade. 
This  was  an  unlucky  affair,  and,  to  finish  the  whole,  as 
we  were  giving,"  he  says,  "  a  welcome  to  the  New  Year, 
the  shop  took  fire  and  burnt  to  ashes,  and  I  was  left  like 
a  true  poet,  not  worth  a  sixpence."  And  so  all  the  way 
through ;  he  had  little  of  thrift  at  any  time.  His  business 
enterprises  failed  ;  nothing  he  touched  turned  into  gold. 


1 36  CHARACTERISTICS. 

The  pictures  he  drew  were  of  life  as  he  had  seen  it  and 
felt  it.  He  had  experienced  its  ills,  and  had  realized  their 
benefits.  Who  but  one  who  had  known  misfortunes  could 
have  said  of  them  so  wisely?  — 

**  I,  here,  wha  sit,  ha'e  met  wi'  some, 

An 's  thankf u'  for  them  yet. 

They  gie  the  wit  of  age  to  youth  ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel' ; 
They  mak'  us  see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  guid  and  ill. 

Though  losses  and  crosses 
Be  lessons  right  severe, 
There 's  wit  there,  ye  '11  get  there, 
Ye  '11  find  nae  other  where." 

Who  but  one  who  had  himself  known  "  the  miseries  of 
man  "  could  so  sympathizingly  remember  and  immortalize 
an  old  granduncle,  with  whom  his  mother  lived  while  in 
her  girlish  years  ?  The  good  old  man  was  long  blind  ere 
he  died ;  during  which  time  his  highest  enjoyment  was 
to  sit  down  and  cry,  while  the  poet's  mother  would  sing 
the  simple  old  song  of  the  Life  and  Age  of  Man.  From 
that  pitiful  scene  in  real  life,  and  from  his  own  bitter 
experiences,  he  produced  those  immortal  lines  —  so  con- 
solatory to  poverty  and  wretchedness  :  — 

"  O  Death  !  the  poor  man's  dearest  friend  — 

The  kindest  and  the  best ! 
Welcome  the  hour  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest ! 
The  great,  the  wealthy,  fear  thy  blow. 

From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 
But,  oh  !  a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary-laden  mourn !  " 

George  Sand,  in  the  introduction  to  one  of  her  novels, 
has  been  looking  at  an  engraving  of  Holbein's  Laborer. 
"  An  old,  thick-set  peasant,  in  rags,  is  driving  his  plow  in 
the  midst  of  a  field.  All  around  spreads  a  wild  land- 
scape, dotted  with  a  few  poor  huts.  The  sun  is  setting 
behind  a  hill ;  the  day  of  toil  is  nearly  over.     It  has  been 


BURNS.  137 

> 

hardj  the  ground  is  rugged  and  stony;  the  laborer's 
horses  are  but  skin  and  bone,  weak  and  exhausted.  There 
is  but  one  alert  figure,  the  skeleton  Death,  who  with  a 
whip  skips  nimbly  along  at  the  horse's  side  and  urges  the 
team.  Under  the  picture  is  a  quotation  in  old  French, 
to  the  effect  that  after  the  laborer's  life  of  travail  and 
service,  in  which  he  has  to  gain  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of 
his  brow,  here  comes  Death  to  fetch  him  away.  And 
from  so  rude  a  life  does  Death  take  him,  says  George 
Sand,  that  Death  is  hardly  unwelcome  ;  and  in  another 
composition  by  Holbein,  where  men  of  almost  every  con- 
dition —  popes,  sovereigns,  lovers,  gamblers,  monks,  sol- 
diers —  are  taunted  with  their  fear  of  Death,  and  do  in- 
deed see  his  approach  with  terror,  Lazarus  alone  is  easy 
and  composed,  and  sitting  on  his  dunghill  at  the  rich 
man's  door,  tells  Death  that  he  does  not  mind  him." 
What  a  picture  the  poet  makes  of 

"  Age  and  Want,  oh  !  ill-matched  pair  I " 
further  back  in  the  poem  last  quoted.     See  ! 

"  On  the  edge  of  life. 
With  cares  and  sorrows  worn  ; 
Then  Age  and  Want  —  oh  !  ill-matched  pair  I  — 
Show  man  was  made  to  mourn." 

Dr.  Hooker,  a  traveler  in  Thibet,  describes  it  as  a 
mountainous  country,  and  inconceivably  poor.  There 
are  no  plains  save  flats  in  the  bottom  of  the  valleys,  and 
the  paths  lead  over  lofty  mountains.  Sometimes,  when 
the  inhabitants  are  obliged  from  famine  to  change  their 
habitations  in  winter,  the  old  and  feeble  are  frozen  to 
death  standing  and  resting  their  chins  on  their  staves ; 
remaining  as  pillars  of  ice,  to  fall  only  when  the  thaw  of 
the  ensuing  spring  commences  !  —  Ah  ! 

"  Age  and  Want  —  oh !  ill-matched  pair  I " 
a  terrible  illustration  :  too  terrible  to  be  contemplated. 
It  proves,  that  in  life  there  are  extremities  of  distress  and 


138  CHARACTERISTICS. 

wretchedness  inconceivable,  even  to  poetic  fancy.  Dante, 
amongst  the  damned,  saw  nothing  more  dreadful. 

"  We  talk,"  said  Douglas  Jerrold,  "  of  the  intemper- 
ance of  the  poor  ;  why,  when  we  philosophically  consider 
the  crushing  miseries  that  beset  them  —  the  keen  suffer- 
ing of  penury,  and  the  mockery  of  luxury  and  profusion 
with  which  it  is  surrounded  —  the  wonder  is,  not  that 
there  are  so  many  who  purchase  temporary  oblivion  of 
their  misery,  but  that  there  are  so  few." 

Living  in  London  streets  accounts  for  the  younger 
Weller's  shrewdness  ;  but  the  pretended  advantages  of 
poverty  are  not  to  the  poor  themselves  so  easy  to  see, 
nor  so  pleasant  to  contemplate.  If  success  hath  crowned 
the  struggle,  the  battle  may  be  calculatingly,  perhaps  com- 
placently, remembered.  "  I  would  not,"  said  Jean  Paul, 
"for  any  money,  have  had  money  in  my  youth;"  but 
Jean  Paul,  no  doubt,  when  he  wrote  the  quaint  words, 
was  looking  back  over  the  rugged  way  to  eminence  at- 
tained. Looking  up  at  the  precipitous,  jagged  path,  he 
would  have  cried  out  in  quite  other  words,  if  not  too 
dumb  by  despairing  discouragement  to  utter  them. 

"  Moralists  tell  you,"  said  Sydney  Smith,  "  of  the  evils 
of  wealth  and  station,  and  the  happiness  of  poverty.  I 
have  been  very  poor  the  greatest  part  of  my  life,  and 
have  borne  it  as  well,  I  believe,  as  most  people,  but  I  can 
safely  say  that  I  have  been  happier  every  guinea  I  have 
gained." 

The  advantages  of  poverty,  at  best  but  remote  and 
fortuitous,  are  sometimes  subject  to  facetious  illustration. 
For  instance,  it  is  said  that  amongst  the  higher  classes  in 
Constantinople,  the  mortality  is  out  of  proportion  great, 
owing  to  tv\'o  facts  ;  first,  whenever  a  person  is  unwell  he 
calls  in  a  doctor,  and  the  doctor  as  sure  as  fate  calls  in  a 
barber,  and  has  the  patient  bled ;  then,  between  doctors, 
barbers,  bleedings,  and  leechings,  the  patient  stands  a 
fair  chance  of  being  soon  carried  to  the  burying- ground. 
Poor  folks  cannot  afford  all  this  expense,  and  they  live. 


BURNS.  139 

Asa,  King  of  Judah,  Bible  readers  remember,  "  was 
diseased  in  his  feet,  until  his  disease  was  exceeding  great : 
yet  in  his  disease  he  sought  not  to  the  Lord,  but  to  the 
physicians.     And  Asa  slept  with  his  fathers." 

No  man  ever  existed  who  better  understood  the  uses 
of  money  than  Burns  ;  else  could  he  have  written  those 
oft-quoted  lines  ?  They  occur  in  The  Epistle  to  a  Young 
Friend,  —  Mr.  Andrew  H.  Aikin  of  Ayr,  to  whose  father 
the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  is  inscribed.  Andrew  is  said 
to  have  profited  by  the  advice,  as  he  lived  and  died  a 
prosperous  man.  Better  did  he  "  reck  the  rede  than  ever 
did  the  adviser." 

"  To  catch  dame  Fortune's  golden  smile. 
Assiduous  wait  upon  her ; 
And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 
That 's  justified  by  honor ; 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 
Nor  for  a  train  attendant, 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 
Of  being  independent." 

Sir  James  Mackintosh  returned  to  England  from  India 
in  broken  health.  He  had  enjoyed  opportunities  for  ac- 
cumulating a  competency.  He  was  judge  of  the  admi- 
ralty court,  besides  being  recorder  of  Bombay.  "  He  had 
been,"  he  said,  '^  to  El  Dorado ;  but  he  had  forgotten  the 
gold  ;  and  was  obliged  to  confess  to  his  friends  that  he 
was  ashamed  of  his  poverty,  since  it  showed  a  want  of 
common  sense." 

Burns,  no  doubt,  often  lamented  his  situation  in  the 
same  self-upbraiding  spirit ;  though  the  independence  he 
enjoyed  was  of  the  genuine  sort,  and  altogether  agreed 
with  his  theory  of  life.  It  was  that  kind  of  independence 
inculcated  in  the  Oriental  story.  They  asked  the  famous 
Hatim  Tayi,  the  most  generous  of  mankind,  "  Have  you 
ever  met  any  one  more  independent  than  yourself  ?  "  He 
replied :  "  Yes  !  One  day  I  gave  a  feast  to  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  had  fifty  oxen  roasted.     As  I  was  pro- 


140  CHARACTERISTICS. 

ceeding  to  the  place,  I  found  a  woodcutter  tying  up  his 
fagots.  I  said,  *Why  do  you  not  go  to  Hatim's  feast, 
which  is  open  to  all  ? '  But  he  answered,  '  Whoever  can 
eat  the  bread  earned  by  his  own  labor  will  not  put  him- 
self under  obligation  to  Hatim  Tayi.'  Then  I  knew  that 
I  had  found  one  more  independent  than  myself." 

Burns  had  a  proud  hatred  of  patronage.  He  would 
not,  like  Samson's  bees,  "  make  honey  in  the  bowels  of  a 
lion,  and  fatten  on  the  offal  of  a  rich  man's  superfluities." 

Charlemagne  had  the  habit  of  impressing  the  seal  upon 
treaties  which  he  had  concluded  with  the  pommel  of  his 
sword,  upon  which  was  engraved,  "  Thus  with  the  pom- 
mel of  my  sword  I  seal  this  act,  the  conditions  of  which 
I  will  execute  with  its  point."  Burns,  with  a  like  sense 
of  personal  responsibility,  swore  "  by  that  honor  which 
crowns  the  upright  statue  of  Robert  Burns'  Integrity." 
Like  Voltaire,  he  perceived  very  early  that  every  man 
must  be  hammer  or  anvil,  and  he  determined  with  the 
great  Frenchman  to  become  a  hammer.  With  what  effect 
he  hammered  injustice,  falsehood,  and  hypocrisy,  and 
struck  for  liberty,  equality,  and  the  rights  of  man,  all  the 
world  will  attest  till  the  last  day. 

For  his  boldness  he  was,  of  course,  hated.  The  hurt 
cried  out.  Enemies  were  as  hostile  as  friends  were  faith- 
ful. The  division  was  natural.  Tze-Kung  asked  Confu- 
cius, "  What  do  you  say  of  a  man  who  is  loved  by  all  the 
people  of  his  village  ? "  The  Master  replied,  "  We  may 
not  for  that  accord  an  approval  of  him."  "  And  what  do 
you  say  of  him  who  is  hated  by  all  the  people  of  his  vil- 
lage } "  The  Master  said,  "  We  may  not  for  that  con- 
clude that  he  i?  bad.  It  is  better  than  either  of  these 
cases  that  the  good  in  the  village  love  him,  and  the  bad 
hate  him." 

Said  old  Daniel,  enthusiastically,  in  his  Epistle  to  Lady 
Margaret,  Countess  of  Cumberland, 

"  Unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  poor  a  thing  is  man." 


BURNS.  141 

Like  all  enthusiasts,  Burns'  standards,  in  his  exalted  mo- 
ments, were  apt  to  be  too  high.  The  pattern  was  inimi- 
table, and  approximations  only  were  discouraging.  Soc- 
rates' precept  to  attain  honest  fame  —  "  Study  to  be  what 
you  wish  to  seem"  —  was  to  him  disheartening.  His 
self-reverence  was  shaken;  and  he  felt  himself  as  much 
worse  than  himself  as  he  had  purposed  being  better. 
Self-reverence !  You  remember  how  it  was  urged  upon 
every  one  by  the  elder  Cato,  as  every  one  is  always  in  his 
own  presence. 

"  I  was  a  lad  of  fifteen,"  said  Scott  to  Lockhart,  "  when 
Burns  came  to  Edinburgh.  The  only  thing  I  remember 
which  was  remarkable  in  his  manner  was  the  effect  pro- 
duced upon  him  by  a  print,  representing  a  soldier  lying 
dead  on  the  snow,  his  dog  sitting  in  misery  on  one  side  — 
on  the  other,  his  widow  with  a  child  in  her  arms.  These 
lines  of  Langhorne's  were  written  beneath  :  — 

"  Cold  on  Canadian  hills,  or  Minden's  plain. 
Perhaps  that  parent  wept  her  soldiejr  slain  — 
Bent  o  'er  the  babe,  her  eye  dissolved  in  dew, 
The  big  drops  mingling  with  the  milk  he  drew, 
Gave  the  sad  presage  of  his  future  years, 
The  child  of  misery  baptized  in  tears." 

Burns  seemed  much  affected  by  the  print:  he  actually 
shed  tears.  There  was  a  strong  expression  of  sense  and 
shrewdness  in  all  his  lineaments  j  the  eye  alone,  1  think, 
indicated  the  poetical  character  and  temperament.  It 
was  large,  and  of  a  dark  cast,  which  glowed  (I  say  liter- 
ally glowed)  when  he  spoke  with  feeling  or  interest.  I 
never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human  head,  though  I 
have  seen  the  most  distinguished  men  of  my  time." 

Of  Jeffrey,  when  a  lad  in  his  teens,  it  is  recorded  that 
one  day,  as  he  stood  on  the  High  street  of  Edinburgh, 
staring  at  a  man  whose  appearance  struck  him,  a  person 
at  a  shop  door  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  said, 
"Aye,  laddie,  ye  may  weel  look  at.  that  man.  That's 
Robbie  Burns." 


142  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  company  of  many  men  of  genius, 
some  of  them  poets,"  said  Ramsey,  a  laird,  to  Dr.  Currie, 
"  but  I  never  witnessed  such  flashes  of  intellectual  bright- 
ness as  from  him,  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  sparks  of 
celestial  fire.  When  I  asked  whether  the  Edinburgh  lit- 
erati had  mended  his  poems  by  their  criticisms,  '  Sir,'  said 
he,  *  these  gentlemen  remind  me  of  some  spinsters  in  my 
country,  who  spin  their  thread  so  fine,  that  it  is  neither  fit 
for  weft  nor  woof.' " 

The  scholarly  and  refined  Edinburghers  rigidly  scruti- 
nized the  rustic  poet,  but  all  accounts  warrant  the  state- 
ment that  he  paid  them  back  in  their  own  coin.  His 
natural  penetration  was  too  keen  to  be  blinded  by  a 
learned  look,  a  haught}^  bearing,  or  the  glitter  of  a  fashion. 
One  of  his  remarks,  when  he  first  went  to  Edinburgh  was, 
that  "  between  the  men  of  rustic  life  and  the  polite  world 
he  observed  little  difference ;  that  in  the  former,  though 
unpolished  by  fashion,  and  unenlightened  by  science,  he 
had  found  much  observation  and  intelligence."  "  He 
manifested,"  says  Lockhart,  "  in  the  whole  strain  of  his 
bearing  and  conversation,  a  most  thorough  conviction, 
that  in  the  society  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  his  na- 
tion, he  was  exactly  where  he  was  entitled  to  be  ;  hardly 
deigned  to  flatter  them  by  exhibiting  even  an  occasional 
symptom  of  being  flattered  by  their  notice ;  by  turns 
calmly  measured  himself  against  the  most  cultivated  un- 
derstandings of  his  time  in  discussion ;  overpowered  the 
witty  sayings  of  the  most  celebrated  convivialists  by  broad 
floods  of  merriment,  impregnated  with  all  the  burning 
fire  of  genius  ;  astounded  persons  habitually  enveloped 
in  the  thrice-piled  folds  of  social  resen^e,  by  compelling 
them  to  tremble,  nay  to  tremble  visibly  beneath  the  fear- 
less touch  of  natural  pathos ;  and  all  this  without  indi- 
cating the  smallest  willingness  to  be  ranked  among  those 
professional  ministers  of  excitement,  who  are  content  to 
be  paid  in  money  and  smiles  for  doing  what  the  specta- 


BURNS.  143 

tors  and  auditors  would  be  ashamed  of  doing  in  their  own 
persons,  even  if  they  had  the  power  of  doing  it." 

Now  and  again,  it  is  said,  the  homage  to  genius  would 
assume  the  character  of  the  patronage  of  dependence, 
afid  then  Burns'  proud  spirit  would  break  through  the 
very  courtesies  of  society,  and  lash  the  offender  against 
his  jealous  sense  of  independence  with  sarcasm  or  satire. 
From  this  it  has  been  judged  by  an  English  critic  that 
pride  was  the  key  to  the  personal  character  of  Burns, 
sometimes  manifesting  itself  in  what  appeared  to  be  arro- 
gance and  injustice.  Pride  he  had  undoubtedly,  says  one 
of  his  biographers,  but  it  was  the  pride  of  a  man  —  an 
honest  uncompromising  pride,  that  scorned  the  arrogance 
and  injustice  of  those  who  dared  to  obtrude  their  petty 
conventional  honors  or  social  position  before  one  who 
knew  their  unreality.  Could  he  have  mounted  a  little  of 
the  furnishings  of  the  artful  hypocrite,  or  the  pliant  syco- 
phant, he  might  have  slipped  into  the  robes  and  dignity 
of  some  lucrative  office. 

What  a  talker  he  must  have  been !  All  accounts  agree 
in  representing  his  conversation  as  wonderful.  It  was 
better  even  than  his  verse.  Sir  Richard  Phillips  once 
went  up  to  Coleridge,  after  hearing  him  talk  in  a  large 
party,  and  offered  him  nine  guineas  a  sheet  for  his  con- 
versations. If  any  enterprising  publisher  had  been  for- 
tunate enough  to  secure  a  few  hundred  pages  of  Burns' 
conversation,  he  might  have  dreamed  of  building  another 
Abbotsford.  If  another  Boswell  had  followed  him  about, 
what  a  book  we  should  have  ! 

We  have  an  account  of  a  call  that  two  Englishmen 
made  upon  him.  They  found  him  fishing.  He  received 
them  with  great  cordiality,  and  asked  them  to  share  his 
humble  dinner.  He  was  in  his  happiest  mood,  and  the 
charm  of  his  conversation  was  altogether  fascinating. 
He  ranged  over  a  variety  of  topics,  illuminating  whatever 
he  touched.     He  related  the  tales  of  his  infancy  and 


144  CHARACTERISTICS. 

youth;  he  recited  some  of  his  gayest  and  some  of  his 
tenderest  poems  j  in  the  wildest  of  the  strains  of  his  mirth 
he  threw  in  some  touches  of  melancholy,  and  spread 
around  him  the  electric  emotions  of  his  powerful  mind. 
The  Highland  whiskey  improved  in  its  flavor  ;  the  marble 
bowl  was  again  and  again  emptied  and  replenished ;  the 
guests  of  the  poet  forgot  the  flight  of  time  and  the  dic- 
tates of  prudence ;  at  the  hour  of  midnight  they  lost 
their  way  to  Dumfries,  and  could  scarcely  distinguish  it 
when  assisted  by  the  morning's  dawn.  No  wonder  that 
"  nicht  wi'  Bums  "  was  so  vividly  remembered  and  so  viv- 
idly narrated. 

In  his  fifteenth  summer  he  first  fell  in  love  with  a 
"bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie  lass."  The  tones  of  her  voice 
made  his  "heart-strings  thrill  like  an  ^olian  harp,"  and 
made  his  pulse  beat  a  "  furious  ratan,"  when  he  "  looked 
and  fingered  over  her  little  hand,  to  pick  out  the  cruel 
nettle-stings  and  thistles."  To  her  he  wrote  his  first 
song.  Handsome  Nell.     In  it  occurs  this  felicitous  verse : 

"  She  dresses  aye  sae  clean  and  neat, 
Baith  decent  and  genteel, 
And  then  there  's  something  in  her  gait 
Gars  ony  dress  look  weal." 

"I  composed  it,"  he  says,  "  in  a  wild  enthusiasm  of  pas- 
sion, and  to  this  hour  I  never  recollect  it  but  my  heart 
melts,  my  blood  sallies  at  the  remembrance." 

In  his  nineteenth  summer  he  fell  in  love  again,  "which 
ebullition,"  he  says,  "  ended  the  school  business  at  Kirk- 
oswold.  It  was  in  vain  to  think  of  doing  any  more  good 
at  school.  The  remaining  week  I  stayed,"  he  says,  "  I 
did  nothing  but  craze  the  faculties  of  my  soul  about  her, 
or  steal  out  to  meet  her;  and  the  two  last  nights  of  my 
stay  in  the  country,  had  sleep  been  a  mortal  sin,  the 
image  of  this  modest  and  innocent  girl  had  kept  me 
guiltless."  From  that  time  on,  we  are  told,  for  several 
years,  love-making  was  his  chief  amusement,  or  rather 


BURNS.  145 

most  serious  business.  His  brother  tells  us  that  he  was 
in  the  secret  of  half  the  love  affairs  of  the  parish  of  Tar- 
bolton,  and  was  never  without  at  least  one  of  his  own. 
There  was  not  a  comely  girl  in  the  parish  on  whom  he  did 
not  compose  a  song,  and  then  he  made  one  which  in- 
cluded them  all. 

At  twenty-three  he  had  an  affair  which  turned  out  to 
be  serious.  Ellison  Begbie,  whom  he  "  adored,"  and  who 
had  "  pledged  her  soul "  to  meet  him  "  in  the  field  of 
matrimony,"  jilted  him,  "  with  peculiar  circumstances  of 
mortification."  His  constitutional  melancholy  was  in- 
creased to  such  a  degree,  that  "  for  three  months,"  he 
says,  "  I  was  in  a  state  of  mind  scarcely  to  be  envied 
by  the  hopeless  wretches  who  have  got  their  mittimus. 
Depart  from  me,  ye  accursed !  "  To  the  cause  of  all  this 
distress  he  wrote  some  of  his  finest  songs,  especially  that 
of  Mary  Morison. 

"  Yestreen  when  to  the  trembling  string 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw  : 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  an'  that  was  braw, 

An'  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sighed,  an'  said  amang  them  a', 

*  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison.' 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  would  gladly  dee  ? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee  ? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  nae  gie, 

At  least  be  pity  on  me  shown  ; 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison." 

In  these  lines  to  Clarinda,  Mrs.  MXehose,  with  whom 
he  had  the  famous  correspondence,  are  concentrated, 
Scott  and  Byron  both  thought,  "  the  essence  of  a  thou- 
sand love  tales  :  " 


146  CHARACTERISTICS. 

**  Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly,  , 

Had  we  never  loved  so  blindly; 
Never  met,  or  never  parted. 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted." 

What  a  favorite  he  was  with  the  fair  !  It  is  said  that 
Abdallah,  the  father  of  Mahomet,  the  most  admirable  of 
the  Arabian  youths,  when  he  consummated  his  marriage 
with  Amina,  of  the  noble  race  of  Zahrites,  two  hundred 
virgins  died  of  jealousy  and  despair.  Burns !  such  a 
splendid  fellow  !  such  a  hearty  lover !  what  wonder  that 
he  also  was  the  admiration  of  hosts  of  sighing  maidens. 
Salvini,  magnificent  histrionic  lover  that  he  is,  were  tame 
indeed  in  comparison  with  Burns  as  an  incarnation  of  the 
tender  passion. 

He  yielded  to  woman  as  Hercules  yielded  to  Omphale, 
or  Samson  to  Delilah.  His  love  was  not  platonic,  but, 
"  the  love  of  human  passion,  burning  with  the  warmth  of 
human  affection."  Lovely  woman  inspired  him.  He 
told  Thomson  that  when  he  wished  to  compose  a  love- 
song,  his  recipe  was  to  put  himself  on  a  "  regimen  of  ad- 
miring a  beautiful  woman."  When  Aristotle  was  asked 
why  people  liked  to  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the 
presence  of  beauty,  he  said,  "  That  is  a  question  for  a 
blind  man  to  ask." 

His  intense  earnestness  put  him  often  at  loggerheads 
with  the  universe.  The  Orientalists  have  a  saying,  that 
when  a  word  has  once  escaped,  a  chariot  with  four  horses 
cannot  overtake  it.  He  had  opinions,  and  was  unwise 
enough  to  express  them.  Wise  men,  said  old  John  Sel- 
den,  say  nothing  in  dangerous  times.  The  Lion,  you 
know,  called  the  Sheep  to  ask  her  if  his  breath  smelt : 
she  said  Aye ;  he  bit  off  her  head  for  a  fool.  He  called 
the  Wolf  and  asked  him :  he  said  No ;  he  tore  him  in 
pieces  for  a  flatterer.  At  last  he  called  the  Fox  and 
asked  him  :  Truly  he  had  got  a  cold  and  could  not  smell. 

Joubert  has  said,  that  we  use  up  in  the  passions  the 


BURNS.  147 

stuff  that  was  given  us  for  happiness.  It  is  accounted  a 
melancholy  fact  by  Madame  de  Stael,  that  from  the  influ- 
ence of  the  passions,  the  human  race  is  doomed  to  move 
in  the  same  circle  of  error,  notwithstanding  its  advance- 
ment by  the  acquisition  of  intellect.  To  most  men,  "  ex- 
perience is  like  the  stern  lights  of  a  ship,  which  illumine 
only  the  track  it  has  passed." 

Memnon,  in  the  story,  conceived  the  insensate  idea  of 
becoming  perfectly  wise.  He  said  to  himself,  To  become 
very  wise,  all  which  is  necessary  is  to  control  the  passions, 
and  that  may  be  easily  done.  The  day  after,  on  his  way 
home  from  the  Palace,  he  reflected  on  the  excellent  res- 
olutions he  had  formed  —  to  defy  the  power  of  women  ; 
to  guard  against  intemperance  and  quarrels  ;  preserve  his 
independence,  and  not  solicit  favors  at  court :  yet  in  one 
day,  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  duped  by  a  woman, 
and  robbed,  been  intoxicated,  lost  deeply  at  play,  had  his 
eye  knocked  out  in  a  quarrel,  was  reduced  to  poverty, 
and  had  solicited  a  favor  at  court,  where  he  had  received 
nothing  but  contempt. 

The  ways  of  men  will  be  awry.  They  will  not  straighten 
them,  nor  let  you,  without  resistance.  Remember  the 
battle  !  It  is  in  cracking  the  bad  nuts  that  you  hurt  your 
fingers.  Charles  the  Fifth,  Emperor  of  Germany,  when 
he  abdicated  a  throne,  and  retired  to  the  monastery  of 
Yuste,  amused  himself  with  the  mechanical  arts,  and 
particularly  with  that  of  watch-making.  He  one  day  ex- 
claimed, "  What  an  egregious  fool  must  I  have  been  to 
have  squandered  so  much  blood  and  treasure,  in  an  ab- 
surd attempt  to  make  all  men  think  alike,  when  I  cannot 
even  make  a  few  watches  keep  time  together." 

Men  mean  better  than  they  do ;  and  pride  of  opinion 
will  account  for  most  of  their  differences.  For  fifteen 
hundred  years,  the  story  is,  two  sects  in  Babylon  had 
maintained  a  violent  contest.  One  said  it  was  proper  to 
enter  the  Temple  with  the  right  foot  foremost ;  the  other 


148  CHARACTERISTICS. 

insisted  that  it  should  be  with  the  left  foot  foremost ;  and 
both  sects  impatiently  expected  the  day  on  which  the  fes- 
tival of  the  sacred  fire  was  to  be  celebrated  to  see  which 
of  them  Zadig  would  favor.  Zadig,  you  must  know,  had 
acquired  the  admiration  and  love  of  the  people  ;  his 
name  was  celebrated  throughout  the  empire.  The  learned 
considered  him  as  an  oracle ;  the  priests  confessed  that 
he  was  wiser  than  the  old  archmagi  Yebor ;  and  they  be- 
lieved only  what  he  thought  was  probable.  The  people 
were  all  in  suspense  and  perturbation.  The  day  arrived, 
and  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  feet  of  Zadig.  He  placed 
them  close  together,  and  jumped  into  the  Temple. 

Genius  is  bold,  and  strikes  to  the  core.  Talent  hesitates, 
and  stops  short.  There  is  said  to  be  a  species  of  cactus 
from  whose  outer  bark,  if  torn  by  some  ignorant  person, 
there  exudes  a  poisonous  liquid ;  but  the  natives,  who 
know  the  plant,  strike  to  the  core,  and  thus  find  a  sweet, 
refreshing  juice,  that  renews  their  strength. 

Talent  busies  itself  with  modes  and  accommodations, 
and  the  purpose  is  apt  to  be  obscured  in  a  chaos  of  de- 
tails. We  have  an  analysis  of  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
of  Balzac's  minor  stories,  which  describes  the  fate  of  a 
poor  painter,  who  had  labored  for  years  at  a  picture  des- 
tined to  create  a  new  era  in  art.  All  his  hopes  in  life,  his 
love  and  his  ambition,  were  involved  in  his  success.  No 
one  had  been  admitted  to  the  room  in  which  he  labored 
with  unremitting  devotion.  At  last,  the  day  came  when 
the  favored  person  stood  before  the  curtain  which  con- 
cealed the  masterpiece.  The  painter  drew  it  aside,  slowly 
and  solemnly,  and  revealed  a  meaningless  confusion  of 
chaotic  coloring.  The  artist's  mind  was  unhinged,  and 
had  been  nearly  destroyed  by  endless  refinements  and  de- 
tails. Recalling  the  statement  made  by  Dr.  Johnson,  that 
Mallet,  though  pensioned  for  the  purpose,  never  wrote  a 
single  line  of  his  projected  life  of  Marlborough,  —  grop- 
ing for  materials,  and  thinking  of  it,  till  he  exhausted  his 
mind. 


BURNS.  149 

The  rapidity  of  Burns'  genius  may  be  imagined  from 
the  production  of  some  of  his  poems  —  Tam  o'  Shanter, 
for  instance  —  which,  we  are  told  by  Mrs.  Burns,  was  the 
work  of  a  single  day.  She  retained  a  vivid  recollection 
of  it.  Her  husband  had  spent  most  of  the  day  by  the 
river  side,  and  in  the  afternoon  she  joined  him  with  her 
two  children.  He  was  busily  engaged  crooning  to  himself ; 
and  Mrs.  Burns  perceiving  that  her  presence  was  an  in- 
terruption, loitered  behind  with  her  little  ones  among  the 
broom.  Her  attention  was  presently  attracted  by  the 
strange  and  wild  gesticulations  of  the  bard,  who  was  now 
seen  at  some  distance,  agonized  with  an  ungovernable 
access  of  joy.  He  was  reciting  very  loud,  and  with  tears 
rolling  down  his  cheeks,  those  animated  verses  which  he 
had  just  conceived  : 

"  Now  Tam  !  O  Tam  !  had  thae  been  queans, 
A'  plump  and  strapping,  in  their  teens." 

"  I  wish  ye  had  seen  him,"  said  his  wife ;  "  he  was 
in  such  ecstasy  that  the  tears  were  happing  down  his 
cheeks."  Some  passages  of  that  poem,  produced  that 
day  by  the  river  side,  appear  to  us  as  the  figures  of  Michel 
Angelo  appeared  to  Castelar  —  "  as  if  they  had  issued 
from  the  flashes  of  a  tempest,  and  been  produced  from 
the  fury  of  a  giant."  The  rapidity  of  his  genius  may  be 
illustrated  by  a  tradition  of  Mahomet,  who,  his  followers 
believe,  was  conveyed  by  the  angel  Gabriel  through  the 
seven  heavens,  paradise,  and  hell,  and  held  fifty-nine  thou- 
sand conferences  with  God,  and  was  brought  back  to  his 
bed  before  the  water  had  finished  flowing  from  a  pitcher 
which  he  upset  as  he  departed. 

In  sight  of  the  Mexicans,  who  had  a  vast  superiority  of 
men  and  artillery.  General  Taylor  held  a  council  of  war, 
and  the  nearly  unanimous  opinion  was,  that  he  should  not 
risk  a  contest.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  Taylor,  "  I  adjourn 
this  council,  until  to-morrow —  after  the  battle,"  —  which, 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  he  won,  against  the  great 


150  CHARACTERISTICS. 

odds.  Burns  had  like  confidence  in  his  abilities,  and 
knew  what  he  could  do.  Scott  told  Leslie,  the  artist,  that 
he  had  known  a  laboring  man  who  was  with  Burns  when 
he  turned  up  the  mouse  with  his  plow.  The  poet's  first 
impulse  was  to  kill  it,  but  checking  himself,  as  his  eye 
followed  the  little  creature,  he  said,  "  I  '11  make  that  mouse 
immortal."  In  connection  with  this,  how  amusing  the 
letter  received  by  Goethe,  from  a  conceited  student,  who 
begged  of  him  the  plan  for  the  second  part  of  Faust, 
with  the  design  of  completing  the  work  himself ! 

The  first  object  that  strikes  the  eye  on  approaching 
Palermo  is  the  Monte  Pellegrino,  whose  square  and  iso- 
lated mass  shelters  the  town  from  the  north-westerly 
winds,  and  makes  the  sirocco  still  more  oppressive.  When 
the  great  Napoleon  was  in  power,  the  people  believed, 
it  is  said,  so  great  was  their  confidence  in  his  supernat- 
ural power,  that  if  he  made  himself  master  of  Sicily,  he 
would  cause  this  mountain  to  be  thrown  into  the  sea. 
The  ruder  country  lads  and  the  lower  peasantry,  looked 
upon  Burns  as  more  than  a  man  —  with  something  like 
supernatural  power.  Especially  they  dreaded  "lest  he 
should  pickle  and  preserve  them  in  sarcastic  song."  Once 
at  a  penny  wedding,  when  two  wild  lads  quarreled,  and 
were  about  to  fight,  Burns  rose  up  and  said,  "  Sit  down, 
or  I  '11  hang  you  up  like  potato-bogles  in  sang  to-morrow." 
They  ceased,  and  sat  down,  it  is  stated,  as  if  their  noses 
had  been  bleeding. 

It  is  an  observation  of  Lord  Halifax  that  a  man  has 
rarely  one  good  quality  but  he  possesses  too  much  of  it. 
Burns'  detestation  of  falsehood,  injustice,  and  hypocrisy, 
sometimes  made  him  merciless  in  assaulting  them.  Hyp- 
ocrites, especially,  trembled  and  winced  under  his  lash. 
He  was  well  aware,  with  Moliere,  of  the  marvelous  ad- 
vantages that  the  profession  of  hypocrisy  possesses,  and 
the  fact  angered  him.  It  is  an  act,  says  the  French  dram- 
atist, of  which  the  imposture  is  always  respected;   and 


BURNS.  151 

though  it  may  be  discovered,  no  one  dares  to  do  any- 
thing against  it.  All  the  other  vices  of  man  are  liable  to 
censure,  and  every  one  has  the  liberty  of  boldly  attack- 
ing them,  but  hypocrisy  is  a  privileged  vice,  which  with 
its  hand  closes  everybody's  mouth,  and  enjoys  its  repose 
with  sovereign  impunity. 

"  The  tender  creature's  eyes  with  sweetness  swell : 
Heaven  's  in  those  eyes,  and  in  his  heart  is  hell." 

"  There  is  some  hypocrisy,"  says  Thackeray,  "  of  which 
one  does  not  like  even  to  entertain  the  thought ;  espe- 
cially that  awful  falsehood  which  trades  with  divme  truth, 
and  takes  the  name  of  Heaven  in  vain."  Kossuth  had  a 
similar  horror  of  the  same  awful  falsehood,  when  he  spoke 
of  one  who  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  altar  of  God 
to  light  the  torch  of  Satan. 

Burns  hated  lying,  and  had  a  conscience  toward  God, 
which,  says  George  Macdonald,  is  the  guide  to  freedom, 
but  conscience  toward  society  is  the  slave  of  a  fool. 
"  Any  man  may  put  himself  in  training  for  a  liar  by  doing 
things  he  would  be  ashamed  to  have  known."  You  re- 
member the  philosopher  in  Lucian,  who  was  present  at 
Jupiter's  whispering  place,  and  heard  one  pray  for  rain, 
another  for  fair  weather ;  one  for  his  wife's,  another  for 
his  father's  death,  etc.,  —  all  asking  that  at  God's  hand 
which  they  were  ashamed  any  man  should  hear. 

Peasantry  and  gentry,  saint  and  sinner,  alike  knew,  and 
alike  dreaded,  his  ridicule.  And  what  is  there,  pray,  that 
is  more  dreadful  than  the  ridicule  of  genius  ?  Nothing 
so  much  put  Napoleon  in  a  rage :  it  made  him  drive  Mad- 
ame de  Stael  out  of  his  empire.  Nobody  likes  it,  for  the 
reason  that  nobody  likes  to  be  exposed,  and  all  the  world 
is  ready  to  unite  in  punishing  it.  The  Koran  threatens 
that  on  the  day  of  resurrection,  those  who  have  indulged 
in  ridicule  will  be  called  to  the  door  of  Paradise,  and 
hear  it  shut  in  their  faces,  when  they  reach  it.  Again,  on 
their  turning  back  they  will  be  called  to  another  door, 


152  CHARACTERISTICS. 

and  again,  on  reaching  it,  will  see  it  closed  against  them ; 
and  so  on  without  end. 

Burns,  for  his  disposition  to  satire,  was  bitterly  pun- 
ished by  his  neighbors,  in  the  only  way  they  could  punish 
one  so  superior  to  them.  They  exaggerated  his  follies, 
and  scandalized  his  name.  "The  disposition,"  says 
Froude,  speaking  of  a  certain  scandal  relating  to  Caesar, 
"to  believe  evil  of  men  who  have  risen  a  few  degrees 
above  their  contemporaries,  is  a  feature  of  human  nature 
as  common  as  it  is  base  ;  and  when  to  envy  there  are 
added  fear  and  hatred,  malicious  anecdotes  spring  like 
mushrooms  in  a  forcing-pit."  Arthur  Helps  remarks,  in 
reference  to  the  accusation  against  Cortez  of  having 
poisoned  Ponce  de  Leon,  that  "  any  man  who  is  much 
talked  of  will  be  much  misrepresented.  Indeed,  malig- 
nant intention  is  unhappily  the  least  part  of  calumny, 
which  has  its  sources  in  idle  talk,  playful  fancies,  gross 
misrepresentations,  utter  exaggerations,  and  many  other 
rivulets  of  error  that  sometimes  flow  together  in  one  huge 
river  of  calumniation,  which  pursues  its  muddy,  mischiev- 
ous course  unchecked  for  ages." 

Admire  him,  however,  they  would,  abuse  him  as  they 
might.  They  were  proud  of  him,  even  those  who  hated 
him.  Moore  records  in  his  Diary,  that  when  a  number  of 
persons  in  his  presence  were  speaking  of  O'Connell,  — 
of  the  mixture  there  was  in  the  great  Irishman  of  high 
and  low,  formidable  and  contemptible,  mighty  and  mean, 
Bobus  Smith  summed  up  all  by  saying :  "  The  only  way 
to  deal  with  such  a  man  is  to  hang  him  up,  and  erect  a 
statue  to  him  under  his  gallows." 

Speaking  his  mind,  as  freely  as  Burns  did,  has  ruined 
many  a  man.  It  is  an  extravagance  that  few  men  can  af- 
ford. Sydney  Smith,  at  a  meeting  of  the  clergy  to  petition 
parliament  against  the  passage  of  the  Catholic  emancipa- 
tion bill,  found  himself  in  a  minority  of  one.  A  poor  cler- 
gyman whispered  to  him  that  he  was  quite  of  his  way  of 


BURNS.  153 

thinking,  but  had  nine  children.     The  witty  and  humane 
parson  begged  he  would  remain  a  Protestant. 

They  pronounced  him  irreligious,  because  he  hated  and 
scourged  hypocrisy.  Full  as  he  was  of  religious  feeling, 
they  were  ready  to  deny  him  belief  in  God  ;  —  the  truth 
being  that  no  one  exceeded  him  in  reverence  of  the  Deity, 
nor  had  a  greater  horror  of  atheism  or  an  atheist.  Who 
could  ever  forget  his  expression  ?  — 

"  An  atheist's  laugh  's  a  poor  exchange 
For  Deity  offended." 

Few  really  great  men  have  been  professed  atheists. 
Voltaire,  it  will  be  remembered,  said  to  the  atheist  Dam- 
ilaville,  "  My  friend,  after  you  have  supped  on  well-dressed 
partridges,  drank  your  sparkling  champagne,  and  slept  on 
cushions  of  down  in  the  arms  of  your  mistress,  I  have 
no  fear  of  you,  though  you  do  not  believe  in  God.  But 
if  you  are  perishing  of  hunger,  and  I  meet  you  in  the 
corner  of  a  wood,  I  would  rather  dispense  with  your  com- 
pany." 

His  hatred  of  injustice,  cant,  and  hypocrisy,  had  the 
effect  no  doubt  to  put  him  often  into  too  intimate  relation 
and  association  with  those  who  were  really  uncongenial 
to  him,  but  who  had  like  aversions  with  himself.  It  has 
been  said,  somewhat  cynically  perhaps,  "  That  we  must 
have  the  same  enmities  to  be  united  in  spirit.  In  order 
to  love  one  another,  we  must  have  hatreds  in  common." 
Some  strange  friendships  in  political  life  might  be  cited 
in  illustration.  Literature,  too,  could  produce  some 
proofs.  We  know,  for  instance,  how,  on  account  of  the 
satire  of-  Fielding,  the  moral  Richardson  and  the  disso- 
lute Gibber  became  lasting  friends. 

But,  in  mixing  with  all,  he  found  many  advantages. 
Meeting  freely  the  low  and  the  mean,  as  well  as  the  high 
and  influential,  he  had  every  view  of  man,  and  was  en- 
abled to  know  the  possibilities  of  so  great  a  composition. 
The  good  and  the  evil  lie  close  together ;  the  virtues  and 


154  CHARACTERISTICS. 

the  vices  alternate  :  so  is  power  accumulated  ;  alternately 
metals  and  rags  — a  terrible  voltaic  pile.  To  know  man, 
you  must  know  men  —  all  sorts  of  men.  Nothing,  it  has 
been  truly  said,  more  conducts  to  liberality  of  judgment 
than  facile  intercourse  with  various  minds.  The  com- 
merce of  intellect  loves  distant  shores.  The  small  retail 
dealer  trades  only  with  his  neighbor ;  when  the  great 
merchant  trades,  he  links  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 

But  with  all  his  gettings,  he  did  not  get  the  wisdom  of 
silence.  He  knew  it,  but  could  not  put  it  in  practice. 
He  advised  it,  but  did  not  act  upon  it. 

"  Aye  free,  aff  han'  your  story  tell, 
When  wi'  a  bosom  crony  ; 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel' 
Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony." 

And  here  we  may  profit  by  an  observation  of  Leigh 
Hunt's  —  which  Burns  above  all  men  realized  —  that  the 
great  secret  of  giving  advice  successfully  is  to  mix  up 
with  it  something  that  implies  a  real  consciousness  of  the 
adviser's  own  defects,  and  as  much  as  possible  of  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  other  party's  merits.  Most  advisers 
sink  both  the  one  and  the  other ;  and  hence  the  failure 
which  they  meet  with,  and  deserve.  Burns  knew  too  well 
his  own  habit  of  talking  right  out  of  his  mind,  and  mem- 
orably warned  against  the  dangers  of  so  easy  and  costly 
an  indulgence.  The  law  of  the  Pundits  he  should  have 
nailed  on  his  door-post :  "  The  Magistrate,  at  what  time 
he  is  desirous  to  consult  with  his  counselors,  should 
choose  a  retired  place,  on  the  top  of  the  house,  or  on  the 
top  of  a  mountain,  or  in  the  desert,  or  some  such  secret 
recess,  and  shall  hold  his  council  there  ;  and  in  places 
where  there  are  parrots,  or  other  talkative  birds,  he  shall 
not  hold  his  council,  while  they  are  present." 

He  was  a  born  convivialist,  and  they  pronounced  him 
a  drunkard.  Drinking  was  very  general  in  his  day,  and 
we  imagine  he  drank  little  if  any  more  than  those  who 


BURNS.  155 

drank  less  publicly.  "  It  is  a  current  story  in  Teviot- 
dale,"  says  Scott,  "  that  in  the  house  of  an  ancient  family 
of  distinction,  much  addicted  to  Presbyterianism,  a  Bible 
was  always  put  into  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  guests, 
along  with  a  bottle  of  strong  ale.  On  some  occasion 
there  was  a  visiting  of  clergymen  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
castle,  all  of  whom  were  invited  to  dinner  by  the  worthy 
baronet,  and  several  abode  all  night.  According  to  the 
fashion  of  the  times,  seven  of  the  reverend  guests  were 
allotted  to  one  large  barrack-room,  which  was  used  on 
such  occasions  of  extended  hospitality.  The  butler  took 
care  that  the  divines  were  presented,  according  to  custom, 
each  with  a  Bible  and  a  bottle  of  ale.  But  after  a  little 
consultation  amongst  themselves,  they  are  said  to  have 
recalled  the  domestic  as  he  was  leaving  the  apartment. 
*  My  friend,'  said  one  of  the  venerable  guests,  '  you  must 
know,  when  we  meet  together  as  brethren,  the  youngest 
minister  reads  aloud  a  portion  of  Scripture  to  the  rest ;  — 
only  one  Bible,  therefore,  is  necessary ;  take  away  the 
other  six,  and  in  their  place  bring  six  more  bottles  of 
ale.' " 

It  is  yet  not  an  uncommon  thing,  we  believe,  in  Scot- 
land, for  the  clerg}^man,  upon  returning  with  the  gentle- 
men to  the  dining-hall,  after  dinner,  to  ask  a  blessing,  the 
same  as  at  dinner  when  the  ladies  were  present,  although 
only  the  bottles  and  the  necessary  conveniences  for  drink- 
ing have  a  place  upon  the  table. 

Alcohol  is  as  old  as  Satan.  Klopstock,  in  his  Messiah, 
indulges  the  speculation  that  the  loved  and  hated  thing 
was  introduced  by  Satan  into  the  tree  of  knowledge  be- 
fore our  first  parents  partook  of  it,  and  was  attended  with 
the  same  effects  that  have  followed  it  ever  since.  One  of 
the  tales  in  Gesta  Romanorum  is  to  the  effect  that  Noah 
discovered  the  wild  vine,  and  because  it  was  bitter,  he  took 
the  blood  of  four  animals,  —  of  a  lion,  of  a  lamb,  a  pig, 
and  a  monkey;  this  mixture  he  united  with  earth,  and 


156  CHARACTERISTICS. 

made  a  kind  of  fertilizer,  which  he  put  at  the  roots  of  the 
vines.  Thus  the  blood  sweetened  the  fruit,  with  which 
he  afterward  intoxicated  himself,  and  lying  naked  in  his 
tent,  was  derided  by  his  younger  son. 

The  excuse  generally  given  for  drinking  is,  that  it  un- 
clogs  the  wheels  of  life,  and  sets  them  running  faster  than 
usual.  A  zest  in  that  way  is  given  to  it,  for  the  time  be- 
ing, in  spite  of  all  its  impediments  and  burdens.  Black- 
stone  composed  his  Commentaries  with  a  bottle  of  port 
before  him.  Addison's  conversation  is  reported  as  not 
good  for  much  till  he  had  taken  a  similar  dose.  Byron's 
account  of  a  party  with  Sheridan  is  picturesque.  It  was, 
he  says,  first  silent,  then  talky,  then  argumentative,  then 
disputatious,  then  unintelligible,  then  altogethery,  then  in- 
articulately, then  drunk.  Irving  used  to  tell  a  witty  anec- 
dote of  one  of  his  early  friends,  Henry  Ogden,  illustrative 
of  the  convivial  feature  of  the  dinners  in  New  York  when 
he  was  a  young  man.  Ogden  had  been  at  one  of  these 
festive  meetings  on  the  evening  before,  and  had  left  with 
a  brain  half  bewildered  by  the  number  of  bumpers  he 
had  been  compelled  to  drink.  He  told  Irving  the  next 
day  that  in  going  home  he  had  fallen  through  a  grating, 
which  had  carelessly  been  left  open,  into  a  vault  beneath. 
The  solitude,  he  said,  was  rather  dismal  at  first,  but  sev- 
eral other  of  the  guests  fell  in,  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing, and  they  had  on  the  whole  quite  a  pleasant  night 
of  it. 

The  implicit  faith  the  Scotch  have  in  their  clergy,  in 
all  things,  is  sometimes  a  great  protection  to  the  cloth. 
Fifty  years  ago,  we  are  told,  when  most  of  the  good  folk 
in  Scotland  esteemed  going  to  the  theatre  as  entirely 
analogous  to  going  to  destruction,  a  popular  Edinburgh 
preacher,  being  in  London,  was  surreptitiously  entering 
with  the  multitude  into  the  pit  of  Drury  Lane.  Suddenly 
a  hand  was  laid  upon  him,  and  an  awe-stricken  voice  said, 
"  Oh,  Doctor  MacGrugar,  what  would  the  congregation  in 


BURNS.  157 

Tolbooth  Kirk  say  if  I  told  them  I  saw  you  here  ? " 
"  Deed,"  replied  the  ready-witted  divine,  "  they  wadna 
believe  you,  and  so  you  needna  tell  them." 

Dr.  Alexander  Webster,  also  of  Edinburgh,  was  re- 
markable, according  to  Scott,  for  the  talent  with  which 
he  at  once  supported  his  place  in  convivial  society,  and  a 
high  character  as  a  leader  of  the  strict  and  rigid  Presby- 
terian party  in  the  Church  of  Scotland,  which  certainly 
seemed  to  require  very  different  qualifications.  He  was 
ever  gay  amid  the  gayest.  When  it  once  occurred  to 
some  one  present  to  ask,  what  one  of  his  elders  would 
think,  should  he  see  his  pastor  in  such  a  merry  mood :  — 
"  Think !  "  replied  the  doctor ;  "  why  he  would  not  believe 
his  own  eyes." 

Johnson  and  Boswell  were  told  in  Sky,  that  every  week 
a  hogshead  of  claret  was  drunk  at  the  table  of  Sir  Alex- 
ander MacDonald  —  kinsman  of  the  romantic  and  heroic 
Flora,  the  guide  and  companion  of  Charles  Edward 
Stuart,  after  his  defeat  at  Culloden,  disguised  as  a  woman. 

That  for  which  a  laird  or  a  doctor  of  divinity  was  ex- 
cused, was  punished  with  severity  in  a  peasant.  Burns 
was,  and  is,  bitterly  censured,  for  what  were,  in  his  day, 
common  sins  of  society.  It  is  too  much  the  way  of  the 
world,  savage  or  civilized,  and,  we  fear,  ever  will  be.  It 
is  the  Feejeean  idea  of  justice,  where  the  criminality  of  an 
act  is  in  proportion  to  the  rank  of  the  offender.  Murder 
by  a  chief  is  less  heinous  than  petty  larceny  committed 
by  a  man  of  low  rank.  It  is  the  universal  rule,  to  esti- 
mate men,  and  respect  them,  according  to  circumstances. 
Pope  was  one  day  with  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  when  his 
nephew,  a  Guinea-trader,  came  in.  "Nephew,"  said  Sir 
Godfrey,  "you  have  the  honor  of  seeing  the  two  greatest 
men  in  the  world."  "  I  don't  know  how  great  you  may 
be,"  said  the  slave-trader,  "  but  I  don't  like  your  looks : 
I  have  often  bought  a  man,  much  better  than  both  of  you 
together,  all  muscles  and  bones,  for  ten  guineas." 


158  CHAPACTERISTICS. 

"  It  is  a  folly,"  said  Publius  Syrus,  "  to  punish  your 
neighbor  by  fire  when  you  live  next  door."  "  If  he  that 
were  guiltless  himself,"  said  old  Burton,  "  should  fling 
the  first  stone  at  thee,  and  he  alone  should  accuse  thee 
that  were  faultless,  how  many  executioners,  how  many  ac- 
cusers, wouldst  thou  have  ?  If  every  man's  sins  were 
written  in  his  forehead,  and  secret  faults  known,  how  many 
thousands  would  parallel,  if  not  exceed  thy  offense?  It 
may  be  the  judge  that  gave  you  sentence,  the  jury  that 
condemned  thee,  the  spectators  that  gazed  on  thee,  de- 
served much  more,  and  were  far  more  guilty  than  thou 
thyself.  But  it  is  thine  infelicity  to  be  taken,  to  be  made 
a  public  example  of  justice,  to  be  a  terror  to  the  rest ;  yet 
should  every  man  have  his  desert,  thou  wouldst  peradven- 
ture  be  a  saint  in  comparison." 

Say  the  Buddhists,  "This  is  an  old  saying,  O  Atula! 
this  is  not  only  of  to-day :  '  They  blame  him  who  sits  si- 
lent, they  blame  him  who  speaks  much,  they  also  blame 
him  who  says  little ;  there  is  no  one  on  earth  who  is  not 
blamed.' " 

Archibald  Prentice  could  not  bear  to  hear  any  one 
speak  evil  of  his  friend  Burns.  Once  at  a  meeting  of 
ministers  and  elders,  some  of  them  began  to  denounce 
Burns'  works  as  immoral.  "I  tell  you  what,"  said  the 
old  man,  "  if  you  had  a'  his  ill  and  the  half  o'  his  gude 
amang  ye,  ye  'd  be  a'  better  men  than  ye  are." 

"Since  Adam,"  said  Margaret  Fuller,  "there  has  been 
none  that  approached  nearer  fitness  to  stand  up  before 
God  and  angels  in  the  naked  majesty  of  manhood  than 
Robert  Bums  ;  —  but  there  was  a  serpent  in  his  field  also  ! 
Yet  but  for  his  fault  we  could  never  have  seen  brought 
out  the  brave  and  patriotic  modesty  with  which  he  owned 
it.  Shame  on  him  who  could  bear  to  think  of  faults  in 
this  rich  jewel,  unless  reminded  by  such  confession." 

Ah  !  the  chances  and  accidents  and  risks  of  life  !  We 
never  can  estimate  them.     The  Duke  of  Wellington  was 


BURNS.  1 59 

accustomed  to  say  that  the  stumbling  of  a  horse  in  a 
charge  of  cavalry  might  lose  a  battle ;  and,  mindful  of 
these  chances,  Sir  Charles  Napier  wrote,  "I  am  as  sure 
of  a  victory  as  a  man  who  knows  that  victory  is  an  acci- 
dent can  be."  Julius  Caesar  owed  two  millions  when  he 
risked  the  experiment  of  being  General  in  Gaul.  If  Ju- 
lius Caesar,  reflected  Bulwer,  had  not  lived  to  cross  the 
Rubicon,  and  pay  off  his  debts,  what  would  his  creditors 
have  called  Julius  Caesar  ? 

There  is  a  novel  by  Emile  Souvestre,  in  which  all  the 
warm-hearted  people  come  to  grief,  and  the  cold-hearted 
calculating  monopolize  all  the  honors  and  riches  of  this 
world.  But  the  balance  is  restored  in  the  next,  when  all 
hearts  being  laid  bare,  in  those  of  the  prosperous  appears 
a  serpent,  and  in  those  of  the  reprobates  a  star. 


VII. 
THE   CHRISTIANITY  OF   WOOLMAN. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  1720,  in  the  province  of  New 
Jersey,  was  born  into  the  world,  in  the  judgment  of  a  very 
high  literary  and  critical  authority  of  Great  Britain,  "  the 
man,  who,  in  all  the  centuries  since  the  advent  of  Christ, 
lived  nearest  to  the  Divine  pattern."  John  Woolman  was 
the  name  of  the  remarkable  man.  He  was  a  Quaker, 
who  lived  a  quiet,  somewhat  ascetic  life,  and  left  behind 
him  some  simple,  unrhetorical  writings,  all  of  which  to- 
gether would  make  no  more  than  one  ordinary  volume. 
The  chief  and  best  known  of  his  published  works  is  the 
Journal  of  his  Life  and  Travels.  It  is  one  of  those  little 
books  that  have  had  incalculable  good  influence.  "  Re- 
member," says  Joubert,  "  what  St.  Francis  of  Sales  said, 
in  speaking  of  the  Imitation  of  Christ, —  *  I  have  sought 
repose  every  where,  and  have  only  found  it  in  a  little  cor- 
ner, with  a  little  book.'  Happy  is  the  writer  who  can 
make  a  beautiful  little  book!  "  Woolman's  Journal  is 
such  another  beautiful  little  book,  and  deserves  to  be  read 
and  cherished  along  with  the'  immortal  Imitation.  The 
one,  indeed,  is  a  constant  reminder  of  the  other,  as  the 
same  spirit  of  purity,  humility,  and  devotion  characterizes 
both. 

"  Get  the  writings  of  John  Woolman  by  heart,"  is  the 
emphatic  advice  of  Charles  Lamb,  in  one  of  his  essays. 
Dr.  Channing,  not  long  before  his  death,  expressed  his 
very  great  surprise  that  the  writings  of  Woolman  were  so 
little  known.  His  countenance  lighted  up  as  he  pro- 
nounced Woolman's  Journal   "beyond  comparison  the 


THE  CHRISTIANITY   OF  WOOLMAN.  l6l 

sweetest  and  purest  autobiography  in  the  language."  "I 
should  almost  despair  of  that  man,"  said  Coleridge,  "who 
could  peruse  the  Life  of  John  Woolman  without  an  ame- 
lioration of  heart."  Crabb  Robinson,  after  referring  to  a 
sermon  by  the  distinguished  Edward  Irving,  which  he 
feared  would  deter  rather  than  promote  belief,  said : 
"  How  different  this  from  John  Woolman's  Journal  I  have 
been  reading  at  the  same  time  !  A  perfect  gem  !  His  is 
a  beautiful  soul.  An  illiterate  tailor,  he  writes  in  a  style 
of  the  most  exquisite  purity  and  grace.  His  moral  quali- 
ties are  transferred  to  his  writings.  His  religion  was  love. 
His  whole  existence  and  all  his  passions  were  love.  If 
one  could  venture  to  impute  to  his  creed,  and  not  to  his 
personal  character,  the  delightful  frame  of  mind  he  ex- 
hibited, one  could  not  hesitate  to  be  a  convert.  His 
Christianity  is  most  inviting,  —  it  is  fascinating."  Theo- 
dore Parker  was  in  like  manner  impressed  with  the  ex- 
traordinary qualities  of  the  Journal,  and  the  Christian 
character  of  its  author.  **  This  is  one  of  the  most  en- 
couraging books,"  he  wrote,  "that  I  ever  read.  What 
depths  of  insight  into  divine  things  !  How  lowly  and 
meek !  How  lofty,  too,  his  aspirations  !  What  gentle 
courage  —  what  faith !  " 

The  most  encouraging  of  all  the  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  books  the  great  reader  and  scholar  and  thinker 
had  read  1  Why  ?  Because,  the  Christianity  inculcated 
in  it,  illustrated  in  it,  incarnated  in  its  author,  is  appre- 
hensible, comprehensible  —  more  than  all,  it  is  practical 
and  practicable.  That,  we  take  to  be  the  reason,  and  a 
reason  sufficient,  why  the  Journal  of  John  Woolman  is 
so  encouraging  to  Christians  and  so  unique  in  religious 
literature.  The  religion  it  inculcates  and  illustrates  is  a 
religion  for  men,  not  for  angels  —  for  human  creatures, 
not  for  celestial  intelligences  —  very  human  creatures, 
with  appetites,  and  passions,  and  naked  bodies  —  only  a 
little  while  on  the  earth  at  the  longest,  and  not  long 
II 


l62  CHARACTERISTICS. 

enough  to  know  any  thing  that  is  really  worth  knowing 
except  by  suffering  and  blundering  —  creatures  that  are 
not  only  sinners,  but  bom  sinners  —  of  infinitely  long 
lines  of  sinners  —  sinners  from  the  foundation  —  blind, 
ignorant,  and  erring  —  for  such  human  creatures  —  and 
all  human  creatures  are  such  —  is  the  Christianity  of 
Woolman  adapted.  He  did  not  understand  Christianity 
to  be  for  the  super-terrestrial,  to  whom  sin  is  known  only 
by  wisdom.  He  understood  it  to  be  for  men,  needing  it, 
and  showed  its  adaptability  by  accepting  it  —  its  practi- 
cableness  by  practicing  it.  His  Christianity  was  encour- 
aging, in  that  it  did  not  require  absolute  imitation  of,  but 
some  slight  approximation  to  the  Divine  Founder. 

The  discouraging  mistake  too  commonly  made  by  the 
preacher  is  to  set  up  standards  of  conduct  unattainable 
by  himself  or  by  any  of  his  hearers.  He  turns  the  key 
of  heaven  against  himself  and  all  mankind.  He  preaches 
an  empty  heaven,  when  an  empty  heaven,  in  his  reflective 
moments,  he  no  more  believes  in  than  any  of  his  hearers. 
His  logic  and  his  law,  he  perceives,  exclude  him  as  cer- 
tainly from  paradise  as  they  exclude  all  the  myriads  of 
mankind.  He  knows,  if  he  has  observed,  that  no  man 
is  so  bad  but  that  there  is  some  good  in  him,  and  that  no 
man  is  so  good  but  that  he  might  be  better.  The  good 
and  the  bad,  too,  appear  to  him,  the  more  he  observes,  so 
much  worse  or  better  according  to  situation  and  circum- 
stances, that  his  abstract  estimates  of  them  become  con- 
fused, and  require  constant  revision.  The  differences 
between  the  good  and  the  bad,  which  appeared  to  him  so 
great,  as  he  knows  more  of  man  and  men  —  more  of  the 
weaknesses  and  distresses  and  ignorances  of  his  fellows 
—  seem  less  and  less  to  him  ;  and  he  reflects  how,  in  *the 
eye  of  the  Maker,  who  knows  every  thing  of  every  one 
of  his  creatures  —  every  besetment  and  every  infirmity  — 
how  impossible,  with  all  his  efforts,  to  accomplish  very 
much  —  how  next  to  impossible  to  use  at  all  his  imper- 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  163 

fectly  developed  wings  —  the  good  and  the  bad  must  ap- 
pear pitifully  alike,  if  not  the  same.  The  moral  distinc- 
tions which  appear  to  the  preacher,  with  his  imperfect 
vision,  so  very  definite,  may  in  the  eye  of  God,  who  sees 
all,  be  nearly  invisible.  But  for  every  little  departure 
from  his  rigidly  straight  line,  the  preacher  has  a  penalty 
ready-made  —  to  be  found  in  his  own  inflexible  little  code, 
if  not  in  the  New  Testament.  As  if  the  creature,  who 
knows  next  to  nothing,  should  judge  for  the  Creator,  who 
knows  every  thing !  Ah  !  justly  is  it  said,  our  measure  of 
rewards  and  punishments^is  most  partial  and  incomplete, 
absurdly  inadequate,  utterly  worldly,  and  we  wish  to  con- 
tinueit  into  the  next  world.  Into  that  next  and  awful 
world  we  strive  to  pursue  men,  and  send  after  them  our 
impotent  party  verdicts,  of  condemnation  or  acquittal. 
We  set  up  our  paltry  little  rods  to  measure  Heaven  im- 
measurable, as  if,  in  comparison  to  that,  Newton's  mind, 
or  Pascal's,  or  Shakespeare's,  was  any  loftier  than  mine ; 
as  if  the  ray  which  travels  from  the  sun  would  reach  me 
sooner  than  the  man  who  blacks  my  boots.  Measured 
by  that  altitude,  the  tallest  and  the  smallest  among  us  are 
so  alike  diminutive  and  pitifully  base  that  we  should  take 
no  count  of  the  calculation,  and  it  is  a  meanness  to  reckon 
the  difference. 

A  religion  that  is  discouraging  to  hope,  is  a  poor  relig- 
ion for  men;  and  a  religion  that  requires  of  them  the 
impossible,  is  such.  For  some  it  may  be  easy  to  be  good 
—  very  good  —  as  we  understand  goodness  ;  for  others 
it  is  nearly  impossible  to  be  good  at  all,  according  to  pul- 
pit standards.  To  the  former  it  may  seem  easy  to  be- 
lieve that  Christ  should  be  imitated  ;  to  the  latter  it  seems 
to  be  only  possible  he  should  be  approximated.  He  is 
the  Great  Exemplar,  the  Divine,  to  be  approached,  and 
only  approached,  as  nearly  as  possible,  by  the  creature. 
Now  and  then,  it  may  be,  a  man  is  born  into  the  world  in 
whom  are  all  the  virtues  so  admirably  mixed  that  it  is 


l64  CHARACTERISTICS. 

possible  for  him  to  approach  very  near  to  the  Divine 
Founder  —  so  near  as  almost  to  touch  the  hem  of  His 
garment ;  the  many,  however,  are  unable  to  approach  so 
near  by  a  very  great  way ;  while  the  great  multitudes  are 
so  far  off  that,  instead  of  seeing  the  light  of  His  coun- 
tenance, they  only  see  the  reflection  of  it  as  it  appears 
faintly,  very  faintly,  in  the  comparatively  few,  very  few, 
alas!  who  are  able  to  approach  near  enough  to  feel  a 
little  the  direct  rays  of  the  Divine  Effulgence.  After  a 
poor  human  creature  has  done  all  that  it  is  possible  for 
him  to  do,  it  is  discouraging  to  be  told  that  he  has  net 
done  enough ;  that  after  he  has  done  all  that  it  is  possible 
for  him  to  do,  he  shall  be  damned.  He  knows  himself 
what  he  can  do  and  what  he  cannot  do  ;  and  finds  him- 
self unable  to  accept  a  faith  which  offers  rewards  for  the 
impracticable  and  impossible  only.  If  the  gate  of  para- 
dise is  to  remain  shut  against  him,  for  what  he  could  not 
help,  it  must  remain  shut  against  all  mankind,  as  he  is 
not  able  to  see  the  mighty  difference  in  men  that  their 
hopeless  separation  implies  ;  —  a  separation  inconceivable 
to  a  vast  number  of  sincere  believers  in  a  future  state,  — 
believers  in  Christ,  and  heirs  to  heaven  under  his  Tes- 
tament. 

The  Christianity  of  Woolman  is  a  practical,  practi- 
cable Christianity.  It  is  broad  enough  to  meet  the  wants 
of  every  human  being,  and  generous  enough  to  encourage 
every  human  being  to  accept  it,  and,  to  the  extent  of  pos- 
sibility, to  shape  his  life  by  it.  Nowhere  in  all  his  writ- 
ings do  we  find  a  single  word  discouraging  to  any  human 
creature.  The  life  he  recommended  he  lived  ;  the  wisdom 
he  taught  he  illustrated  ;  the  Christianity  he  preached  he 
incarnated.  Without  violence  or  passion,  he  was  com- 
manding; without  great  intellect  or  learning,  he  was  con- 
vincing. His  simplicity  was  more  than  eloquence ;  his 
goodness  was  power.  Humble,  sincere,  and  devoted, 
there  was  no  trace  of  selfishness  visible  in  his  transpar- 


THE  CHRISTIANITY   OF  WOOLMAN.  1 65 

ent  character.     He  was  what  he  wished  to  seem,  and 
seemed  to  be  what  he  was. 

Whittier,  in  his  Introduction  to  the  Journal,  has  some 
just  observations  upon  Woolman's  writings  in  general,  — 
the  larger  portion  of  which  are  devoted  to  the  subjects 
of  slavery,  uncompensated  labor,  and  the  excessive  toil 
and  suffering  of  the  many  to  support  the  luxury  of  the 
few.  "  The  argument  running  through  them  is  searching, 
and  in  its  conclusions  uncompromising,  but  a  tender 
love  for  the  wrong-doer  as  well  as  the  sufferer  under- 
lies all.  They  aim  to  convince  the  judgment  and  reach 
the  heart  without  awakening  prejudice  and  passion. 
To  the  slaveholders  of  his  time  they  must  have  seemed 
like  the  voice  of  conscience  speaking  to  them  in  the  cool 
of  the  day.  One  feels,  in  reading  them,  the  tenderness 
and  humility  of  a  nature  redeemed  from  all  pride  of  opin- 
ion and  self-righteousness,  sinking  itself  out  of  sight,  and 
intent  only  upon  rendering  smaller  the  sum  of  human 
sorrow  and  sin  by  drawing  men  nearer  to  God  and  to 
each  other.  The  style  is  that  of  a  man  unlettered,  but 
with  natural  refinement  and  delicate  sense  of  fitness,  the 
purity  of  whose  heart  enters  into  his  language.  There  is 
no  attempt  at  fine  writing,  not  a  word  or  phrase  for  ef- 
fect ;  it  is  the  simple  unadorned  diction  of  one  to  whom 
the  temptations  of  the  pen  seem  to  have  been  wholly  un- 
known. He  wrote  as  he  believed  from  an  inward  spirit- 
ual prompting ;  and  with  all  his  unaffected  humility  he 
evidently  felt  that  his  work  was  done  in  the  clear  radiance 
of  '  the  light  which  never  was  on  land  or  sea.'  It  was  not 
for  him  to  outrun  his  Guide,  or,  as  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
expresses  it,  to  '  order  the  finger  of  the  Almighty  to  his 
will  and  pleasure,  but  to  sit  still  under  the  soft  showers 
of  Providence.'  Very  wise  are  these  essays,  but  their 
wisdom  is  not  altogether  that  of  this  world.  They  lead 
one  away  from  all  the  jealousies,  strifes,  and  competitions 
of  luxury,  fashion,  and  gain,  out  of  the  close  air  of  parties 


l66  CHARACTERISTICS. 

and  sects,  into  a  region  of  calmness,  —  *  the  haunt  of 
every  gentle  wind  whose  breath  can  teach  the  wild  to  love 
tranquillity ; '  —  a  quiet  habitation  where  all  things  are  or- 
dered in  what  he  calls  '  the  pure  reason ; '  a  rest  from 
all  self-seeking,  and  where  no  man's  interest  or  activity 
conflicts  with  that  of  another.  Beauty  they  certainly  have, 
but  it  is  not  that  which  the  rules  of  art  recognize  ;  a  cer- 
tain indefinable  purity  pervades  them,  making  one  sensi- 
ble, as  he  reads,  of  a  sweetness  as  of  violets.  '  The  secret 
of  Woolman's  style,'  said  Dr.  Channing,  'is  that  his  eye 
was  single,  and  that  conscience  dictated  his  words.'  Of 
course  we  are  not  to  look  to  the  WTitings  of  such  a  man 
for  tricks  of  rhetoric,  the  free  play  of  imagination,  or  the 
unscrupulousness  of  epigram  and  antithesis.  He  wrote 
as  he  lived,  conscious  of  'the  great  Task-master's  eye.' 
With  the  wise  heathen  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus  he  had 
learned  to  'wipe  out  imaginations,  to  check  desire,  and 
let  the  spirit  that  is  the  gift  of  God  to  every  man,  as  his 
guardian  and  guide,  bear  rule.'  " 

John  Woolman's  gift,  it  has  been  well  and  justly  said, 
by  an  appreciating  religious  writer,  was  love,  —  "a  char- 
ity of  which  it  does  not  enter  into  the  natural  heart  of 
man  to  conceive,  and  of  which  the  more  ordinary  expe- 
riences, even  of  renewed  nature,  give  but  a  faint  shadow^ 
Every  now  and  then,  in  the  world's  history,  we  meet  with 
such  men,  the  kings  and  priests  of  Humanity,  on  whose 
heads  this  precious  ointment  has  been  so  poured  forth 
that  it  has  run  down  to  the  skirts  of  their  clothing,  and 
extended  over  the  whole  of  the  visible  creation ;  men 
who  have  entered,  like  Francis  of  Assisi,  into  the  secret 
of  that  deep  amity  with  God  and  with  his  creatures  which 
makes  man  to  be  in  league  with  the  stones  of  the  field, 
and  the  beasts  of  the  field  to  be  at  peace  with  him.  In 
this  pure,  universal  charity  there  is  nothing  fitful  or  inter- 
mittent, nothing  that  comes  and  goes  in  showers  and 
gleams  and  sunbursts.     Its  springs  are  deep  and  constant, 


THE  CHRISTIANITY   OF  WOOLMAN.  167 

its  rising  is  like  that  of  a  mighty  river,  its  very  overflow 
calm  and  steady,  leaving  life  and  fertility  behind  it." 

"  Looking  at  the  purity,  wisdom,  and  sweetness  of  his 
life,  who  shall  say,"  asks  a  distinguished  admirer,  "  that 
his  faith  in  the  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  —  the  interior 
guide  and  light  —  was  a  mistaken  one  ?  Surely  it  was  no 
illusion  by  which  his  feet  were  so  guided  that  all  who  saw 
him  felt  that,  like  Enoch,  he  walked  with  God.  '  Without 
the  actual  inspiration  of  the  Spirit  of  Grace,  the  inward 
teacher  and  soul  of  our  souls,'  says  Fenelon,  'we  could 
neither  do,  will,  nor  believe  good.  We  must  silence  every 
creature,  we  must  silence  ourselves  also,  to  hear  in  a  pro- 
found stillness  of  the  soul  this  inexpressible  voice  of 
Christ.  The  outward  word  of  the  gospel  itself  without 
this  living  efficacious  word  within  would  be  but  an  empty 
sound.'  'I  am  sure,' says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  'that 
there  is  a  common  spirit  that  plays  within  us,  and  that  is 
the  Spirit  of  God.  Whoever  feels  not  the  warm  gale  and 
gentle  ventilation  of  this  Spirit,  I  dare  not  say  he  lives ; 
for  truly  without  this  to  me  there  is  no  heat  under  the 
tropic,  nor  any  light  though  I  dwelt  in  the  body  of  the 
sun.'  '  Thou  Lord,'  says  Augustine,  *  communicatest  thy- 
self to  all :  thou  teachest  the  heart  without  words  ;  thou 
speakest  to  it  without  articulate  sounds.'  Never  was  this 
divine  principle  more  fully  tested  than  by  John  Woolman ; 
and  the  result  is  seen  in  a  life  of  such  rare  excellence 
that  the  world  is  still  better  and  richer  for  its  sake,  and 
the  fragrance  of  it  comes  down  to  us  through  a  century, 
still  sweet  and  precious." 

At  twenty-one  he  became  a  clerk  and  book-keeper  in  a 
small  store  kept  by  a  tailor  at  Mount  Holly.  During  the 
second  year  of  his  employment  there,  his  employer,  "  hav- 
ing a  negro  woman,  sold  her,  and  desired  me,"  he  says, 
"  to  write  a  bill  of  sale,  the  man  being  waiting  who  bought 
her.  The  thing  was  sudden ;  and  though  I  felt  uneasy 
at  the  thoughts  of  writing  an  instrument  of  slavery  for 


l68  CHARACTERISTICS. 

one  of  my  fellow-creatures,  yet  I  remembered  that  I  was 
hired  by  the  year,  that  it  was  my  master  who  directed  me 
to  do  it,  and  that  it  was  an  elderly  man,  a  member  of  our 
Society,  who  bought  her;  so  through  weakness  I  gave 
way,  and  wrote  it ;  but  at  the  executing  of  it  I  was  so 
afflicted  in  my  mind,  that  I  said  before  my  master  and 
the  Friend,  that  I  believed  slave-keeping  to  be  a  practice 
inconsistent  with  the  Christian  religion.  This,  in  some 
degree,  abated  my  uneasiness  ;  yet  as  often  as  I  reflected 
seriously  upon  it  I  thought  I  should  have  been  clearer  if 
I  had  desired  to  be  excused  from  it,  as  a  thing  against 
my  conscience ;  for  such  it  was.  Some  time  after  this  a 
young  man  of  our  Society  spoke  to  me  to  write  a  convey- 
ance of  a  slave  to  him,  he  having  lately  taken  a  negro 
into  his  house.  I  told  him  I  was  not  easy  to  write  it ; 
for,  though  many  of  our  meeting  and  in  other  places  kept 
slaves,  I  still  believed  the  practice  was  not  right,  and  de- 
sired to  be  excused  from  the  writing.  I  spoke  to  him  in 
good-will ;  and  he  told  me  that  keeping  slaves  was  not 
altogether  agreeable  to  his  mind  ;  but  that  the  slave  being 
a  gift  made  to  his  wife  he  had  accepted  her." 

This  circumstance  was  the  beginning  of  a  life  of  quiet 
but  persistent  opposition  to  slavery.  Not  long  afterward 
he  visited  Maryland,  Virginia,  and  North  Carolina.  He 
was  afflicted  by  the  prevalence  of  the  sin  of  slavery.  It 
appeared  to  him,  in  his  own  words,  "  as  a  dark  gloominess 
overhanging  the  land."  On  his  return  he  wrote  an  essay 
on  the  subject,  which  was  published  in  1754,  bearing  the 
imprint  of  Benjamin  Franklin.  Three  years  later  he  made 
a  second  visit  to  the  Southern  meetings  of  Friends. 
"  Traveling  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  he  was  compelled 
to  sit  down  at  the  tables  of  slaveholding  planters,  who 
were  accustomed  to  entertain  their  friends  free  of  cost, 
and  who  could  not  comprehend  the  scruples  of  their  guest 
against  receiving  as  a  gift  food  and  lodging  which  he  re- 
garded as  the  gain  of  oppression.     He  was  a  poor  man, 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  169 

but  he  loved  truth  more  than  money.  He  therefore  either 
placed  the  pay  for  his  entertainment  in  the  hands  of  some 
member  of  the  family,  for  the  benefit  of  the  slaves,  or 
gave  it  directly  to  them,  as  he  had  opportunity."  "  When 
I  expected,"  he  says,  "soon  to  leave  a  friend's  house 
where  I  had  entertainment,  if  I  believed  that  I  should  not 
keep  clear  from  the  gain  of  oppression  without  leaving 
money,  I  spoke  to  one  of  the  heads  of  the  family  pri- 
vately, and  desired  them  to  accept  of  pieces  of  silver,  and 
give  them  to  such  of  their  negroes  as  they  believed  would 
mabe  the  best  use  of  them ;  and  at  other  times  I  gave 
them  to  the  negroes  myself,  as  the  way  looked  clearest  to 
me.  Before  I  came  out,  I  had  provided  a  large  number 
of  small  pieces  for  this  purpose,  and  this  offering  them 
to  some  who  appeared  to  be  wealthy  people  was  a  trial 
both  to  me  and  them.  But  the  fear  of  the  Lord  so  cov- 
ered me  at  times  that  my  way  was  made  easier  than  I  ex- 
pected ;  and  few,  if  any,  manifested  any  resentment  at 
the  offer,  and  most  of  them,  after  some  conversation,  ac- 
cepted of  them." 

He  also  journeyed  through  New  York  and  the  New 
England  States  in  the  same  unostentatious  but  earnest 
way,  bearing  his  testimony  as  he  went  against  sinfulness 
of  every  sort,  especially  against  the  sin  of  slavery.  The 
object  of  his  travels  was  of  course  to  meet  with  the  mem- 
bers of  his  Society  ;  but,  says  a  distinguished  anti-slavery 
leader,  "the  influence  of  the  life  and  labors  of  John 
Woolman  has  by  no  means  been  confined  to  the  religious 
society  of  which  he  was  a  member.  It  may  be  traced 
wherever  a  step  in  the  direction  of  emancipation  has  been 
taken  in  America  or  in  Europe.  During  the  war  of  the 
Revolution  many  of  the  noblemen  and  officers  connected 
with  the  French  army  became,  as  their  journals  abun- 
dantly testify,  deeply  interested  in  the  Society  of  Friends, 
and  took  back  to  France  with  them  something  of  its 
growing  anti-slavery  sentiment.     Especially  was  this  the 


170  CHARACTERISTICS. 

case  with  Jean  Pierre  Brissot,  the  thinker  and  statesman 
of  the  Girondists,  whose  intimacy  with  Warner  Mifflin,  a 
friend  and  disciple  of  Woolman,  so  profoundly  affected 
his  whole  after  life.  He  became  the  leader  of  the  Friends 
of  the  Blacks,  and  carried  with  him  to  the  scaffold  a  pro- 
found hatred  of  slavery.  To  his  efforts  may  be  traced 
the  proclamation  of  Emancipation  in  Hayti  by  the  com- 
missioners of  the  French  convention,  and  indirectly  the 
subsequent  uprising  of  the  blacks  and  their  successful 
establishment  of  a  free  government.  The  same  influence 
reached  Thomas  Clarkson  and  stimulated  his  early  efforts 
for  the  abolition  of  the  slave-trade  ;  and  in  after  life  the 
volume  of  the  New  Jersey  Quaker  was  the  cherished  com- 
panion of  himself  and  his  amiable  helpmate.  It  was  in 
a  degree,  at  least,  the  influence  of  Stephen  Grellet  and 
William  Allen,  men  deeply  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
Woolman,  and  upon  whom  it  might  almost  be  said  his 
mantle  had  fallen,  that  drew  the  attention  of  Alexander  I. 
of  Russia  to  the  importance  of  taking  measures  for  the 
abolition  of  serfdom,  an  object  the  accomplishment  of 
which  the  wars  during  his  reign  prevented,  but  which,  left 
as  a  legacy  of  duty,  has  been  peaceably  effected  by  his 
namesake,  Alexander  II.  In  the  history  of  Emancipation 
in  our  own  country  evidences  of  the  same  original  im- 
pulse of  humanity  are  not  wanting.  .  .  .  Looking  back 
to  the  humble  workshop  at  Mount  Holly  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  Proclamation  of  President  Lincoln,  how  has 
the  seed  sown  in  weakness  been  raised  up  in  power !  " 

"  Having  now  been  several  years  with  my  employer," 
he  says,  "  and  he  doing  less  in  merchandise  than  hereto- 
fore, I  was  thoughtful  about  some  other  way  of  business, 
perceiving  merchandise  to  be  attended  with  much  cumber 
in  the  way  of  trading  in  these  parts.  My  mind,  through 
the  power  of  truth,  was  in  a  great  degree  weaned  from 
the  desire  of  outward  greatness,  and  I  was  learning  to  be 
content  with  real  conveniences,  that  were  not  costly,  so 


THE   CHRISTIANITY   OF   WOOLMAN.  171 

that  a  way  of  life  free  from  much  entanglement  appeared 
best  for  me,  though  the  income  might  be  small.  I  had 
several  offers  of  business  that  appeared  profitable,  but  I 
did  not  see  my  way  clear  to  accept  of  them,  believing 
they  would  be  attended  with  more  outward  care  and  cum- 
ber than  was  required  of  me  to  engage  in.  I  saw  that 
an  humble  man,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Lord,  might 
live  on  a  little,  and  that  where  the  heart  was  set  on  great- 
ness, success  in  business  did  not  satisfy  the  craving ;  but 
that  commonly  with  an  increase  of  wealth  the  desire  of 
wealth  increased.  There  was  a  care  on  my  mind  so  to 
pass  my  time  that  nothing  might  hinder  me  from  the  most 
steady  attention  to  the  voice  of  the  true  Shepherd.  My 
employer,  though  now  a  retailer  of  goods,  was  by  trade  a 
tailor,  and  kept  a  servant-man  at  that  business ;  and  I 
began  to  think  about  learning  the  trade,  expecting  that  if 
I  should  settle  I  might  by  this  trade  and  a  little  retailing 
of  goods  get  a  living  in  a  plain  way,  without  the  load  of 
great  business.  I  mentioned  it  to  my  employer,  and  we 
soon  agreed  on  terms,  and  when  I  had  leisure  from  the 
affairs  of  merchandise  I  worked  with  this  man.  I  be- 
lieved the  hand  of  Providence  pointed  out  this  business 
for  me,  and  I  was  taught  to  be  content  with  it,  though  I 
felt  at  times  a  disposition  that  would  have  sought  for 
something  greater;  but  through  the  revelation  of  Jesus 
Christ  I  had  seen  the  happiness  of  humility,  and  there 
was  an  earnest  desire  in  me  to  enter  deeply  into  it ;  at 
times  this  desire  arose  to  a  degree  of  fervent  supplication, 
wherein  my  soul  was  so  environed  with  heavenly  light 
and  consolation  that  things  were  made  easy  to  me  which 
had  been  otherwise." 

A  person  at  some  distance  lying  sick,  his  brother  came 
to  Woolman  to  write  his  will.  "  I  knew  he  had  slaves," 
writes  Woolman,  "  and,  asking  his  brother,  was  told  he 
intended  to  leave  them  as  slaves  to.  his  children.  As 
writing  is  a  profitable  employ,  and  as  offending  sober  peo- 


IJ2  CHARACTERISTICS. 

pie  was  disagreeable  to  my  inclinations,  I  was  straitened 
in  my  mind ;  but  as  I  looked  to  the  Lord,  he  inclined  my 
heart  to  his  testimony.  I  told  the  man  that  I  believed 
that  the  practice  of  continuing  slavery  to  this  people  was 
not  right,  and  that  I  had  a  scruple  in  my  mind  against 
doing  writings  of  that  kind  ;  that  though  many  in  our 
Society  kept  them  as  slaves,  still  I  was  not  easy  to  be 
concerned  in  it,  and  desired  to  be  excused  from  going  to 
write  the  will.  I  spake  to  him  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord, 
and  he  made  no  reply  to  what  I  said,  but  went  away ; 
he  also  had  some  concerns  in  the  practice,  and  I  thought 
he  was  displeased  with  me.  In  this  case  I  had  fresh  con- 
firmation that  acting  contrary  to  present  outward  interest, 
from  a  motive  of  Divine  love  and  in  regard  to  truth  and 
righteousness,  and  thereby  incurring  the  resentments  of 
people,  opens  the  way  to  a  treasure  better  than  silver,  and 
to  a  friendship  exceeding  the  friendship  of  men." 

His  persistence  in  declining  to  write  wills  bequeathing 
human  beings,  and  his  mild  and  sincere  manner  —  Chris- 
tian manner —  of  advocating  emancipation,  resulted  some- 
times in  the  freedom  of  those  whose  enslavement  it  was 
intended  to  perpetuate. 

The  increase  of  business  soon  became  a  burden. 
"  Though  my  natural  inclination,"  he  says,  "  was  towards 
merchandise,  yet  I  believed  truth  required  me  to  live 
more  free  from  outward  cumbers ;  and  there  was  now  a 
strife  in  my  mind  between  the  two.  In  this  exercise  my 
prayers  were  put  up  to  the  Lord,  who  graciously  heard 
me,  and  gave  me  a  heart  resigned  to  his  holy  will.  Then 
I  lessened  my  outward  business,  and,  as  I  had  opportu- 
nity, told  my  customers  of  my  intentions,  that  they  might 
consider  what  shop  to  turn  to ;  and  in  a  while  I  wholly 
laid  down  merchandise,  and  followed  my  trade  as  a  tailor 
by  myself,  having  no  apprentice.  I  also  had  a  nursery  of 
apple-trees,  in  which  I  employed  some  of  my  time  in  hoe- 
ing, grafting,  trimming,  and  inoculating."     "  He  seems," 


THE  CHRISTIANITY   OF  WOOLMAN.  1 73 

says  Whittier,  "  to  have  regarded  agriculture  as  the  busi- 
ness most  conducive  to  morals  and  physical  health.  He 
thought  '  if  the  leadings  of  the  spirit  were  more  attended 
to,  more  people  would  be  engaged  in  the  sweet  employ- 
ment of  husbandry,  where  labor  is  agreeable  and  health- 
ful.' He  does  not  condemn  the  honest  acquisition  of 
wealth  in  other  business  free  from  oppression ;  even 
*  merchandising,'  he  thought,  might  be  carried  on  inno- 
cently and  in  pure  reason.  Christ  does  not  forbid  the 
laying  up  of  a  needful  support  for  family  and  friends  ; 
the  command  is,  *  Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures  on 
earth.'  From  his  little  farm  on  the  Rancocas  he  looked 
out  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  wonder  and  sorrow  upon  the 
hurry  and  unrest  of  the  world  ;  and  especially  was  he 
pained  to  see  luxury  and  extravagance  overgrowing  the 
early  plainness  and  simplicity  of  his  own  religious  society. 
He  regarded  the  merely  rich  man  with  unfeigned  pity. 
With  nothing  of  his  scorn,  he  had  all  of  Thoreau's  com- 
miseration, for  people  who  went  about  bowed  down  with 
the  weight  of  broad  acres  and  great  houses  on  their 
backs."  "  Though  trading  in  things  useful,"  he  says,  "  is 
an  honest  employ,  yet  through  the  great  number  of  super- 
fluities which  are  bought  and  sold,  and  through  the  cor- 
ruption of  the  times,  they  who  apply  to  merchandise  for 
a  living  have  great  need  to  be  well  experienced  in  that 
precept  which  the  Prophet  Jeremiah  laid  down  for  his 
scribe  :  *  Seekest  thou  great  things  for  thyself  ?  seek  them 
not.' " 

Writing  to  Friends  at  their  monthly  meeting  in  North 
Carolina,  he  says  :  "  First,  my  dear  friends,  dwell  in  hu- 
mility j  and  take  heed  that  no  views  of  outward  gain  get 
too  deep  hold  of  you,  that  so  your  eyes  being  single  to 
the  Lord,  you  may  be  preserved  in  the  way  of  safety. 
Where  people  let  loose  their  minds  after  the  love  of  out- 
ward things,  and  are  more  engaged  in  pursuing  the  profits 
and  seeking  the  friendships  of  this  world  than  to  be  in- 


174  CHARACTERISTICS. 

wardly  acquainted  with  the  way  of  true  peace,  they  walk 
in  a  vain  shadow,  while  the  true  comfort  of  life  is  wanting. 
Their  examples  are  often  hurtful  to  others  ;  and  their 
treasures  thus  collected  do  many  times  prove  dangerous 
snares  to  their  children.  .  .  .  Treasures,  though  small, 
attained  on  a  true  principle  of  virtue,  are  sweet ;  and 
while  we  walk  in  the  light  of  the  Lord  there  is  true  com- 
fort and  satisfaction  in  the  possession  ;  neither  the  mur- 
murs of  an  oppressed  people,  nor  a  throbbing,  uneasy 
conscience,  nor  anxious  thoughts  about  the  events  of 
things,  hinder  the  enjoyment  of  them.  When  we  look 
towards  the  end  of  life,  and  think  on  the  division  of  our 
substance  among  our  successors,  if  we  know  that  it  was 
collected  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  in  honesty,  in  equity, 
and  in  uprightness  of  heart  before  him,  we  may  consider 
it  as  his  gift  to  us,  and,  with  a  single  eye  to  his  blessing, 
bestow  it  on  those  we  leave  behind  us.  Such  is  the  hap- 
piness of  the  plain  ways  of  true  virtue." 

How  strange  this  old-fashioned  Christian  philosophy 
seems  to  us,  in  these  feverish  days  of  greed  and  desperate 
competition  !  How  strange  to  us  this  pious  "  taste  for 
poverty,"  as  Souvestre  calls  it,  when  gold,  more  than  ever, 
is  an  object  of  worship,  and  poverty  so  generally  is  thought 
to  be,  and  sometimes  admits  itself  to  be,  criminal. 

"  Having  at  times,"  he  says,  "  perceived  a  shyness  in 
some  Friends  of  considerable  note  towards  me,  I  found 
an  engagement  in  gospel  love  to  pay  a  visit  to  one  of 
them ;  and  as  I  dwelt  under  the  exercise,  I  felt  a  resign- 
edness  in  my  mind  to  go  and  tell  him  privately  that  I  had 
a  desire  to  have  an  opportunity  with  him  alone ;  to  this 
proposal  he  readily  agreed,  and  then,  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  things  relating  to  that  shyness  were  searched  to  the 
bottom,  and  we  had  a  large  conference,  which,  I  believe, 
was  of  use  to  both  of  us,  and  I  am  thankful  that  way  was 
opened  for  it." 

In  a  debate  in  one  of  the  church  meetings  on  the  sul> 


THE   CHRISTIANITY   OF   WOOLMAN.  1 75 

ject  of  lotteries,  he  took  decided  grounds  against  them. 
"  In  the  heat  of  zeal,"  he  says,  "  I  made  reply  to  what  an 
ancient  Friend  said,  and  when  I  sat  down  I  saw  that  my 
words  were  not  enough  seasoned  with  charity.  After  this 
I  spoke  no  more  on  the  subject.  Some  time  after  the 
minute  was  made  I  remained  uneasy  with  the  manner  of 
my  speaking  to  an  ancient  Friend,  and  could  not  see  my 
way  clear  to  conceal  my  uneasiness,  though  I  was  con- 
cerned that  I  might  say  nothing  to  weaken  the  cause  in 
which  I  had  labored.  After  some  close  exercise  and 
hearty  repentance  for  not  having  attended  closely  to  the 
safe  guide,  I  stood  up,  and,  reciting  the  passage,  ac- 
quainted Friends  that  though  I  durst  not  go  from  what 
I  had  said  as  to  the  matter,  yet  I  was  uneasy  with  the 
manner  of  my  speaking,  believing  milder  language  would 
have  been  better.  As  this  was  uttered  in  some  degree  of 
creaturely  abasement  after  a  warm  debate,  it  appeared  to 
have  a  good  savor  amongst  us." 

Thinking  of  "  hats  and  garments  dyed  with  a  dye  hurt- 
ful to  them,"  and  of  "wearing  more  clothes  in  summer 
than  are  useful,"  made  him  "  uneasy,"  "  believing  them 
to  be  customs  which  have  not  their  foundation  in  pure 
wisdom.  The  apprehension,"  he  says,  "  of  being  singu- 
lar from  my  beloved  friends  was  a  strait  upon  me,  and 
thus  I  continued  in  the  use  of  such  things  contrary  to  my 
judgment."  Pretty  soon,  however,  his  "  mind  was  settled 
in  relation  to  hurtful  dyes,"  having  determined  that  all 
new  garments  should  be  of .  the  natural  color.  "  Then  I 
thought,"  he  says,  "  of  getting  a  hat  the  natural  color  of 
the  fur,  but  the  apprehension  of  being  looked  upon  as 
one  affecting  singularity  felt  uneasy  to  me."  On  this  ac- 
count he  was  "  under  close  exercise  of  mind,  greatly  de- 
siring to  be  rightly  directed,"  "  when,"  he  says,  *'  being 
deeply  bowed  in  spirit  before  the  Lord,  I  was  made  will- 
ing to  submit  to  what  I  apprehended  was  required  of  me, 
and  when  I  returned  home  got  a  hat  of  the  natural  color 


176  CHARACTERISTICS. 

of  the  fur.  In  attending  meetings  this  singularity  was 
a  trial  to  me,  and  more  especially  at  this  time,  as  white 
hats  were  used  by  some  who  were  fond  of  following  the 
changeable  modes  of  dress,  and  as  some  Friends  who 
knew  not  from  what  motives  I  wore  it  grew  shy  of  me, 
I  felt  my  way  for  a  time  shut  up  in  the  exercise  of  the 
ministry." 

He  was  greatly  distressed  on  account  of  the  sale  by 
white  people  of  rum  to  the  Indians,  and  his  Journal,  dur- 
ing a  missionary  visit  to  the  natives,  contains  some  note- 
worthy observations  growing  out  of  it.  "  I  was,"  he  says, 
"renewedly  confirmed  in  a  belief  that  if  all  our  inhab- 
itants lived  according  to  sound  wisdom,  laboring  to  pro- 
mote universal  love  and  righteousness,  and  ceased  from 
every  inordinate  desire  after  wealth,  and  from  all  customs 
which  are  tinctured  w4th  luxury,  the  way  would  be  easy 
for  our  inhabitants,  though  they  might  be  much  more  nu- 
merous than  at  present,  to  live  comfortably  on  honest 
employments,  without  the  temptation  they  are  so  often 
under  of  being  drawn  into  schemes  to  make  settlements 
on  lands  which  have  not  been  purchased  of  the  Indians, 
or  of  applying  to  that  wicked  practice  of  selling  rum  to 
them."  "A  weighty  and  heavenly  care  came  over. my 
mind,  and  love  filled  my  heart  towards  all  mankind,  in 
which  I  felt  a  strong  engagement  that  we  might  be  obe- 
dient to  the  Lord  while  in  tender  mercy  he  is  yet  calling 
to  us,  and  that  we  might  so  attend  to  pure  universal  right- 
eousness as  to  give  no  just  cause  of  offense  to  the  Gen- 
tiles, who  do  not  profess  Christianity,  whether  they  be 
the  blacks  from  Africa,  or  the  native  inhabitants  of  this 
continent." 

The  circumstance  of  having  joined  with  another  exec- 
utor in  selling  a  negro  lad  till  he  might  attain  the  age  of 
thirty  years,  was  the  cause  of  great  sorrow  to  him.  "  With 
abasement  of  heart  I  may  now  say,"  he  says,  "  that  some- 
times as  I  have  sat  in  a  meeting  with  my  heart  exercised 


THE  CHRISTIANITY   OF  WOOLMAN.  177 

towards  that  awful  Being  who  respecteth  not  persons  nor 
colors,  and  have  thought  upon  this  lad,  I  have  felt  that 
all  was  not  clear  in  my  mind  respecting  him ;  and  as  I 
have  attended  to  this  exercise  and  fervently  sought  the 
Lord,  it  hath  appeared  to  me  that  I  should  make  some 
restitution.  My  mind  for  a  time  was  covered  with  dark- 
ness and  sorrow.  Under  this  sore  affliction  my  heart  was 
softened  to  receive  instruction,  and  I  now  first  perceived 
that  as  I  had  been  one  of  the  two  executors  who  had  sold 
this  lad  for  nine  years  longer  than  is  common  for  our 
children  to  serve,  so  I  should  now  offer  part  of  my  sub- 
stance to  redeem  the  last  half  of  the  nine  years ;  but  as 
the  time  was  not  yet  come,  I  executed  a  bond,  binding 
myself  and  my  executors  to  pay  to  the  man  to  whom  he 
was  sold  what  to  candid  men  might  appear  equitable  for 
the  last  four  and  a  half  years  of  his  time,  in  case  the  said 
youth  should  be  living,  and  in  a  condition  likely  to  pro- 
vide comfortably  for  himself." 

In  1772,  in  the  fifty-second  year  of  his  age,  he  visited 
England,  with  a  certificate  directed  to  Friends  in  Great 
Britain.  He  declined  a  passage  in  the  cabin  for  the  rea- 
sons (to  use  his  own  language)  "  That  on  the  outside  of 
that  part  of  the  ship  where  the  cabin  was  I  observed  sun- 
dry sorts  of  carved  work  and  imagery ;  that  in  the  cabin 
I  observed  some  superfluity  of  workmanship  of  several 
sorts ;  and  that  according  to  the  ways  of  men's  reckoning, 
the  sum  of  money  to  be  paid  for  a  passage  in  that  apart- 
ment has  some  relation  to  the  expense  of  furnishing  it  to 
please  the  minds  of  such  as  give  way  to  a  conformity  to 
this  world ;  and  that  in  this,  as  in  other  cases,  the  moneys 
received  from  the  passengers  are  calculated  to  defray  the 
cost  of  these  superfluities,  as  well  as  the  other  expenses 
of  their  passage.  I  therefore  felt  a  scruple  with  regard 
to  paying  my  money  to  be  applied  to  such  purposes." 

Lodging  in  the  steerage,  he  was  much  among  the  sea- 
men, and,  "from  a  motion  of  love,"  took  "sundry  oppor- 
12 


178"  CHARACTERISTICS. 

tunities  with  one  of  them  at  a  time,"  and  "labored,"  "in 
free  conversation,"  "  to  turn  their  minds  towards  the  fear 
of  the  Lord."  Deeply  he  grieved  over  their  oppression 
and  distresses,  and  his  lamentations,  as  set  down  in  his 
Journal,  are  profoundly  touching.  "They  mostly,"  he 
says,  "  appeared  to  take  kindly  what  I  said  to  them ;  but 
their  minds  were  so  deeply  impressed  with  the  almost 
universal  depravity  among  sailors  that  the  poor  creatures 
in  their  answers  to  me  have  revived  in  my  remembrance 
that  of  the  degenerate  Jews  a  little  before  the  captivity, 
as  repeated  by  Jeremiah  the  prophet,  *  There  is  no 
hope.'" 

Arriving  in  London,  he  went  straight  to  the  Quaker 
meeting,  which  he  knew  to  be  in  session.  Coming  in  late 
and  unannounced,  his  peculiar  dress  and  manner  .nat- 
urally excited  attention,  and  apprehension  that  he  was  an 
itinerant  enthusiast.  He  presented  his  certificate  from 
Friends  in  America,  but  the  dissatisfaction  still  remained, 
and  some  one  remarked  that  perhaps  the  stranger  Friend 
might  feel  that  his  dedication  of  himself  to  this  appre- 
hended service  was  accepted,  without  further  labor,  and 
that  he  might  now  feel  free  to  return  to  his  home  !  John 
Woolman  sat  silent,  it  is  stated,  for  a  space,  seeking  the 
unerring  counsel  of  Divine  Wisdom.  He  was  profoundly 
affected  by  the  unfavorable  reception  he  met  with,  and 
his  tears  flowed  freely.  The  words,  however,  which  he 
was  permitted  to  utter,  made  a  different  impression  on 
the  meeting.  A  deep  silence,  it  is  said,  prevailed  over 
the  assembly,  many  of  whom  were  touched  by  the  -wise 
simplicity  of  the  stranger's  words  and  manner.  At  the 
conclusion,  "  the  Friend  who  had  advised  against  his 
further  service  rose  up  and  humbly  confessed  his  error, 
and  avowed  his  full  unity  with  the  stranger." 

The  low  wages  paid  to  English  laborers,  and  the  pov- 
erty and  wretchedness  visible  on  every  hand,  caused  him 
to  cry  out,  "  Oh  may  the  wealthy  consider  the  poor ! "    It 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  1 79 

gave  him  also  great  distress  of  mind  to  discover  that  in 
many  instances  members  of  his  Society  "mixed  with  the 
world  in  various  sorts  of  traffic,  carried  on  in  impure 
channels."  He  found  them  loading  ships  engaged  in  the 
slave-trade,  and  trading  as  others  in  all  kinds  of  super- 
fluities, till,  he  said,  "  dimness  of  sight  came  over  many." 
"  I  have  felt,"  he  says,  "  in  that  which  doth  not  deceive, 
that  if  Friends  who  have  known  the  truth  keep  in  that 
tenderness  of  heart  where  all  views  of  outward  gain  are 
given  up,  and  their  trust  is  only  in  the  Lord,  he  will  gra- 
ciously lead  some  to  be  patterns  of  deep  self-denial  in 
things  relating  to  trade  and  handicraft  labor ;  and  others 
who  have  plenty  of  the  treasures  of  this  world  will  be  ex- 
amples of  a  plain  frugal  life,  and  pay  wages  to  such  as 
they  may  hire  more  liberally  than  is  now  customary  in 
some  places." 

He  "  saw  that  people  setting  off  their  tables  with  silver 
vessels  at  entertainments  was  often  stained  with  worldly 
glory,"  and  he  preferred  not  to  drink  from  them.  His 
sense  of  cleanliness  was  also  affected  as  he  traveled 
through  the  kingdom.  "  Some  of  the  great,"  he  says, 
"  carry  delicacy  to  a  great  height  themselves,  and  yet  real 
cleanliness  is  not  generally  promoted.  Dyes  being  in- 
vented partly  to  please  the  eye  and  partly  to  hide  dirt,  I 
have  felt,  when  traveling  in  dirtiness,  and  affected  with 
unwholesome  scents,  a  strong  desire  that  the  nature  of 
dyeing  cloth  to  hide  dirt  may  be  more  fully  considered. 
Real  cleanliness  becometh  a  holy  people  ;  but  hiding  that 
which  is  not  clean  by  coloring  our  garments  seems  con- 
trary to  the  sweetness  of  sincerity."  He  declined  to 
travel  in  stage-coaches,  because  the  horses  and  drivers 
were  cruelly  used  ;  the  former  sometimes  being  killed  by 
hard  driving,  and  the  latter  sometimes  frozen  to  death  by 
exposure.  "So  great,"  he  says,  "is  the  hurry  in  the 
spirit  of  this  world,  that  in  aiming  to  do  business  quickly 
and  to  gain  wealth,  the  creation  at  this  day  doth  loudly 


l80  CHARACTERISTICS. 

groan."  For  the  reasons  mentioned,  his  travels  in  Eng- 
land were  entirely  on  foot.  Sickness  came  upon  him  ; 
the  climate  and  every  thing  seemed  to  be  against  him  ; 
he  was  even  sometimes  in  need.  "  I  have,"  he  says,  near 
the  end  of  his  Journal,  "  known  poverty  of  late."  His 
mind,  it  appears,  was  greatly  exercised  by  a  sense  of  the 
intimate  connection  of  luxury  and  oppression ;  the  burden 
of  the  laboring  poor  rested  heavily  upon  him.  In  his 
lonely  wanderings  on  foot  through  the  rural  districts,  or 
in  his  temporary  sojourn  in  crowded  manufacturing  towns, 
the  eager  competitions  and  earnest  pursuit  of  gain  of  one 
class,  and  the  poverty  and  physical  and  moral  degrada- 
tion of  another,  so  oppressed  him  that  his  health  suffered 
and  his  strength  failed.  In  his  frequent  mention  through- 
out his  Journal  of  trials  and  afflictions,  he  nowhere  be- 
trays any  personal  solicitude,  any  merely  selfish  anxiety. 
He  offered  no  prayers  for  special  personal  favors.  He 
was,  to  use  his  own  words,  mixed  with  his  fellow-creatures 
in  their  misery,  and  could  not  consider  himself  a  distinct 
and  separate  being.  His  last  public  labor,  says  his  emi- 
nent biographer,  was  a  testimony  in  the  York  Meeting  in 
behalf  of  the  poor  and  enslaved.  His  last  prayer  on  his 
death-bed  was  a  commendation  of  his  "  fellow-creatures 
separated  from  the  Divine  harmony  "  to  the  Omnipotent 
Power,  whom  he  had  learned  to  call  his  Father.  He  died 
of  small-pox  in  the  city  of  York,  on  the  7  th  day  of  Octo- 
ber, 1772,  aged  fifty- two  years. 

His  simple  words  have  a  precious  flavor  of  sweetness 
and  purity  and  genuineness  that  is  not  surpassed,  we  be- 
lieve, in  the  whole  range  of  literature.  Passages  like 
these,  for  instance :  how  delicious  !  how  Christlike  ! 

"  Selfish  men  may  possess  the  earth :  it  is  the  meek 
alone  who  inherit  it  from  the  Heavenly  Father  free  from 
all  defilements  and  perplexities  of  unrighteousness." 

"  Whoever  rightly  advocates  the  cause  of  some,  thereby 
promotes  the  good  of  the  whole." 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  l8l 

"  If  one  suffers  by  the  unfaithfulness  of  another,  the 
mind,  the  most  noble  part  of  him  that  occasions  the  dis- 
cord, is  thereby  alienated  from  its  true  happiness." 

"  There  is  harmony  in  the  several  parts  of  the  Divine 
work  in  the  hearts  of  men.  He  who  leads  them  to  cease 
from  those  gainful  employments  which  are  carried  on  in 
the  wisdom  which  is  from  beneath  delivers  also  from  the 
desire  of  worldly  greatness,  and  reconciles  to  a  life  so 
plain  that  a  little  suffices." 

"  Oppression  in  the  extreme  appears  terrible ;  but  op- 
pression in  more  refined  appearances  is  nevertheless  op- 
pression. To  labor  for  a  perfect  redemption  from  the 
spirit  of  it  is  the  great  business  of  the  whole  family  of 
Jesus  Christ  in  this  world." 

"There  is  a  principle  which  is  pure,  placed  in  the  hu- 
man mind,  which  in  different  places  and  ages  hath  had 
different  names ;  it  is,  however,  pure,  and  proceeds  from 
God.  It  is  deep  and  inward,  confined  to  no  forms  of 
religion  nor  excluded  from  any,  when  the  heart  stands  in 
perfect  sincerity.  In  whomsoever  this  takes  root  and 
grows,  they  become  brethren." 

What  precious  society  a  man  capable  of  so  generous, 
so  comprehensive,  so  profound  a  sentiment  would  have 
been  to  Buddha,  Confucius,  Plato,  Marcus  Aurelius, 
Thomas  k  Kempis,  Fenelon,  or  Sir  Thomas  Browne ! 

"  He  who  professeth  to  believe  in  one  Almighty  Cre- 
ator, and  in  his  Son  Jesus  Christ,  and  is  yet  more  intent 
on  the  honors,  profits,  and  friendships  of  the  world  than 
he  is,  in  singleness  of  heart,  to  stand  faithful  to  the 
Christian  religion,  is  in  the  channel  of  idolatry ;  while 
the  Gentile,  who,  notwithstanding  some  mistaken  opinions, 
is  established  in  the  true  principle  of  virtue,  and  humbly 
adores  an  Almighty  Power,  may  be  of  the  number  that 
fear  God  and  work  righteousness." 

"To  treasure  up  wealth  for  another  generation,  by 
means  of  the  immoderate  labor  of   those  who  in  some 


1 82  CHARACTERISTICS. 

measure  depend  upon  us,  is  doing  evil  at  present,  without 
knowing  that  wealth  thus  gathered  may  not  be  applied  to 
evil  purposes  when  we  are  gone.  To  labor  hard,  or  cause 
others  to  do  so,  that  we  may  live  conformably  to  customs 
which  our  Redeemer  discountenanced  by  his  example, 
and  which  are  contrary  to  Divine  order,  is  to  manure  a 
soil  for  propagating  an  evil  seed  in  the  earth." 

"  When  house  is  joined  to  house,  and  field  laid  to  field, 
until  there  is  no  place,  and  the  poor  are  thereby  strait- 
ened, though  this  is  done  by  bargain  and  purchase,  yet  so 
far  as  it  stands  distinguished  from  universal  love,  so  far 
that  woe  predicted  by  the  prophet  will  accompany  their 
proceedings.  As  he  who  first  founded  the  earth  was 
then  the  true  proprietor  of  it,  so  he  still  remains,  and 
though  he  hath  given  it  to  the  children  of  men,  so  that 
multitudes  of  people  have  had  their  sustenance  from  it 
while  they  continued  here,  yet  he  hath  never  alienated 
it,  but  his  right  is  as  good  as  at  first ;  nor  can  any  apply 
the  increase  of  their  possessions  contrary  to  universal 
love,  nor  dispose  of  lands  in  a  way  which  they  know 
tends  to  exalt  some  by  oppressing  others,  without  being 
justly  chargeable  with  usurpation." 

"  I  find  that  to  be  a  fool  as  to  worldly  wisdom,  and  to 
commit  my  cause  to  God,  not  fearing  to  offend  men,  who 
take  offense  at  the  simplicity  of  truth,  is  the  only  way  to 
remain  unmoved  at  the  sentiment  of  others." 

"  Deep  humility  is  a  strong  bulwark,  and  as  we  enter 
into  it  we  find  safety  and  true  exaltation.  The  foolish- 
ness of  God  is  wiser  than  man,  and  the  weakness  of  God 
is  stronger  than  man.  Being  unclothed  of  our  own  wis- 
dom, and  knowing  the  abasement  of  the  creature,  we  find 
that  power  to  arise  which  gives  health  and  vigor  to  us." 

"  The  love  of  ease  and  gain  are  the  motives  in  general 
of  keeping  slaves,  and  men  are  wont  to  take  hold  of  weak 
arguments  to  support  a  cause  which  is  unreasonable.  I 
have  no  interest  on  either  side,  save  only  the  interest 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  1 83 

which  I  desire  to  have  in  the  truth.  I  believe  Hberty  is 
their  right,  and  as  I  see  they  are  not  only  deprived  of  it, 
but  treated  in  other  respects  with  inhumanity  in  many 
places,  I  believe  he  who  is  a  refuge  for  the  oppressed 
will,  in  his  own  time,  plead  their  cause,  and  happy  will  it 
be  for  such  as  walk  in  uprightness  before  him." 

How  Uke  the  sentiment  and  thought  of  John  Brown, 
who  died  a  martyr  on  the  scaffold  a  little  more  than  a 
hutidred  years  after  this  prophecy  was  uttered  ! 

"  The  natural  man  loveth  eloquence,  and  many  love  to 
hear  eloquent  orations,  and  if  there  be  not  a  careful  at- 
tention to  the  gift,  men  who  have  once  labored  in  the 
pure  gospel  ministry,  growing  weary  of  suffering,  and 
ashamed  of  appearing  weak,  may  kindle  a  fire,  compass 
themselves  about  with  sparks,  and  walk  in  the  light,  not 
of  Christ,  who  is  under  suffering,  but  of  that  fire  which 
they  in  departing  from  the  gift  have  kindled,  in  order  that 
those  hearers  who  have  left  the  meek,  suffering  state  for 
worldly  wisdom  may  be  warmed  with  this  fire  and  speak 
highly  of  their  labors.  That  which  is  of  God  gathers  to 
God,  and  that  which  is  of  the  world  is  owned  by  the 
world." 

A  little  while  before  he  died  he  asked  for  pen  and  ink, 
and  wrote :  "  I  believe  my  being  here  is  in  the  wisdom  of 
Christ ;  I  know  not  as  to  life  or  death." 

It  will  not  lessen  the  value  of  these  detached  passages 
in  the  minds  of  the  true  disciples  of  our  Divine  Lord, 
that  they  are  manifestly  not  written  to  subserve  the  inter- 
ests of  a  narrow  sectarianism.  They  might  have  been 
penned,  says  his  brother  Whittier,  by  Fenelon  in  his  time, 
or  Robertson  in  ours,  dealing  as  they  do  with  Christian 
practice,  —  the  life  of  Christ  manifesting  itself  in  purity 
and  goodness,  —  rather  than  with  the  dogmas  of  theology. 
The  underlying  thought  of  all  is  simple  obedience  to  the 
Divine  word  in  the  soul.  "  Not  every  one  that  saith  unto 
me  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 


1 84  CHARACTERISTICS. 

but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  in  heaven."  John 
Woolman's  faith,  like  the  Apostle's,  is  manifested  by  his 
labors,  standing  not  in  words  but  in  the  demonstration  of 
the  spirit,  —  a  faith  that  works  by  love  to  the  purifying  of 
the  heart.  The  entire  outcome  of  this  faith  was  love 
manifested  in  reverent  waiting  upon  God,  and  in  that  un- 
tiring benevolence,  that  quiet  but  deep  enthusiasm  of 
humanity,  which  made  his  daily  service  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  a  hymn  of  praise  to  the  common  Father. 

John  Woolman's  religion  was  real  Christianity,  "which 
being  too  spiritual  to  be  seen  by  us,"  saith  old  Dr.  Donne, 
"  doth  therefore  take  an  apparent  body  of  good  life  and 
works."  His  life  was  religion  incarnate,  of  perpetual  good 
works,  that  had  but  little  time  to  voice  itself  but  in  acts,  — 
like  the  good  woman's,  who,  after  having  bred  a  large 
family,  and  led  a  long  life  of  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  — 
worn  out  by  care,  and  weary  of  her  burdens  —  came  at 
length  to  what  was  supposed  to  be  her  death-bed.  A 
clerg3'man  in  the  neighborhood  thought  it  to  be  his  duty 
to  call  upon  her.  He  asked  her  in  language  usual  with 
his  sect  if  she  had  made  her  peace  with  her  Maker ;  to 
which  she  replied  that  she  was  not  aware  that  there  had 
been  any  trouble.  John  Woolman  lived  his  religion,  and 
so  the  world  had  faith  in  it.  "  Preachers  say,"  said  old 
John  Selden,  "  Do  as  I  say,  not  as  I  do.  But  if  a  phy- 
sician had  the  same  disease  upon  him  that  I  have,  and  he 
should  bid  me  do  one  thing,  and  he  do  quite  another, 
could  I  believe  him  ?  " 

"  To  the  multitude,"  says  the  author  of  Ecce  Homo, 
"  religion  will  always  mean  what  parsons  talk  about,  what 
goes  on  in  churches  and  chapels.  .  .  .  Religion,  many 
will  insist,  means,  and  must  mean,  churches  and  clergy- 
men, and  you  determine  the  condition  of  it  by  ascertain- 
ing what  proportion  of  the  population  goes  to  church,  and 
whether  the  number  of  candidates  for  orders  increases 
or  diminishes,  just  as  you  ascertain  the  state  of  trade  by 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  1 85 

looking  at  the  returns  of  export  and  import.  .  .  .  Religion 
has  been  so  defined,  that  morality  can  be  separated  from 
it,  that  the  laws  of  the  universe  can  be  separated  from  it, 
that  all  noble  and  elevated  acts  can  be  separated  from  it ; 
what  wonder  then  that  nothing  but  a  caput  mortuum 
seems  to  remain  ? "  "  All  Christians  believe,"  says  an- 
other eminent  English  writer,  "  that  the  blessed  are  the 
poor  and  humble,  and  those  who  are  ill-used  by  the  world ; 
that  it  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a 
needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven ;  that  they  should  judge  not,  lest  they  be  judged ; 
that  they  should  swear  not  at  all ;  that  they  should  love 
their  neighbor  as  themselves ;  that  if  one  take  their  cloak, 
they  should  give  him  their  coat  also ;  that  they  should 
take  no  thought  for  the  morrow  ;  that  if  they  would  be 
perfect,  they  should  sell  all  that  they  have  and  give  it  to 
the  poor.  They  are  not  insincere  when  they  say  that  they 
believe  these  things.  They  do  believe  them,  as  people 
believe  what  they  have  always  heard  lauded  and  never 
discussed.  But  in  the  sense  of  that  living  belief  which 
regulates  conduct,  they  believe  these  doctrines  just  up  to 
the  point  to  which  it  is  usual  to  act  upon  them.  When- 
ever conduct  is  concerned,  they  look  round  for  Mr.  A. 
and  B.  to  direct  them  how  far  to  go  in  obeying  Christ." 
By  such  sort  of  mere  nominalism  we  are  apt  to  get  as 
far  away  from  Christ  as  possible,  and  possibly  without 
knowing  it.  A  writer  in  Temple  Bar  states  that  the  native 
trading  community  in  Cyprus  consists  of  Moslems,  Jews, 
and  Christians.  Of  these  he  says  a  European  merchant 
can  nearly  always  believe  the  first  upon  his  simple  word, 
the  two  latter  he  can  rarely  credit  on  oath,  and  tli^  harder 
they  swear  the  more  certain  one  may  be  that  they  are 
stating  what  is  not  true. 

Theology  is  one  thing  and  religion  another.  "  Trav- 
elers have  often  observed,"  says  Archibald  Alison,  in  his 
essay  on  Chateaubriand,  "that  in  a  certain  rank  in  all 


1 86  CHARACTERISTICS. 

countries  manners  are  the  same ;  naturalists  know,  that 
at  a  certain  elevation  above  the  sea  in  all  latitudes,  we 
meet  with  the  same  vegetable  productions ;  and  philos- 
ophers have  often  remarked,  that  in  the  highest  class  of 
intellects,  opinions  on  almost  every  subject  in  all  ages 
and  places  are  the  same.  A  similar  uniformity  may  be 
observed  in  the  principles  of  the  greatest  writers  of  the 
world  on  religion  ;  and  while  the  inferior  followers  of 
their  different  tenets  branch  out  into  endless  divisions, 
and  indulge  in  sectarian  rancor,  in  the  more  lofty  regions 
of  intellect  the  principles  are  substantially  the  same,  and 
the  objects  of  all  identical.  So  small  a  proportion  do  all 
the  disputed  points  in  theology  bear  to  the  great  objects 
of  religion,  love  to  God,  charity  to  man,  and  the  subju- 
gation of  human  passion."  There  is,  we  are  compelled 
to  believe,  a  respectable  amount  of  truth  in  the  two  fa- 
miliar lines  of  Pope  : 

**  For  forms  and  creeds  let  graceless  bigots  fight ; 
He  can't  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right." 

Dr.  Holmes,  expatiating  in  the  Professor  on  the  pos- 
sible church  of  the  future,  says:  "The  Broad  Church, 
I  think,  will  never  be  based  on  any  thing  that  requires 
the  use  of  language.  Free  Masonry  gives  an  idea  of 
such  a  church,  and  a  brother  is  known  and  cared  for  in 
a  strange  land  where  no  word  of  his  can  be  understood. 
The  apostle  of  this  church  may  be  a  deaf  mute  carrying 
a  cup  of  cold  water  to  a  thirsting  fellow-creature.  The 
cup  of  cold  water  does  not  require  to  be  translated  for  a 
foreigner  to  understand  it.  I  am  afraid  the  only  Broad 
Church  possible  is  one  that  has  its  creed  in  the  heart, 
and  not  in  the  head,  —  that  we  shall  know  its  members 
by  their  fruits,  and  not  by  their  words." 

John  Woolman's  religion  was  as  broad  as  the  brother- 
hood of  man,  and  as  boundless  as  Christian  charity. 
Wherever  there  was  a  man,  there  was  a  brother,  good 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  18/ 

enough  for  him  to  love  and  worship  with:  alone,  he 
communed  with  God.  As  with  the  hermit  in  Italy,  who 
lived  in  a  simple  cottage  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  a  mile 
from  any  habitation.  Providence  was  his  very  next-door 
neighbor.  His  happiness  was  in  duty.  It  is  said  of  Col- 
lingwood  that  he  never  saw  a  vacant  place  in  his  estate 
but  he  took  an  acorn  out  of  his  pocket  and  popped  it  in. 
Woolman,  also,  wherever  he  found  a  human  soul  in  which 
he  thought  the  seed  of  practical  Christianity  would  grow 
he  planted  it  there.  Not  noisily  or  aggressively.  He 
had  nothing  of  the  vice  of  rectitude.  He  did  not  insist 
authoritatively  that  you  should  ever  and  forever  walk  in 
his  own  remorselessly  strait  path.  He  did  not  dis- 
charge his  moral  pistol  at  you  and  knock  you  down  with 
the  but-end  of  it  if  you  failed  to  pronounce  him  infalli- 
ble. He  had  not  a  particle  of  what  has  been  called  the 
wrath  of  celestial  minds.  Nor  was  he  a  motive-monger, 
like  Walter  Shandy,  —  a  very  dangerous  sort  of  person 
for  a  man  to  sit  by,  either  laughing  or  crying.  He  was 
most  concerned  about  his  own  motives,  and  the  good  of 
his  acts.  He  was  never  ill-humored  or  rude  from  an 
ostentatious  love  of  speaking  truth.  He  knew  as  well  as 
any  man  the  truth  of  the  inscription  upon  one  of  the 
seals  of  the  Mogul  Sultan  Achar,  that  "  never  a  man  was 
lost  upon  a  straight  road."  He  knew  at  the  same  time 
that  the  ways  of  men  are  crooked  and  will  be ;  that  his 
own  way  was  not  perfectly  straight,  and  could  not  be. 
Self  he  kept  out  of  view  as  far  as  possible,  but  not  osten- 
tatiously. In  these  days,  it  has  been  very  truly  said,  part 
of  the  stock  in  trade  of  the  unscrupulous  self-seeker  is 
sometimes  a  great  parade  of  unselfishness  :  the  man  who 
never  in  his  life  really  exerted  himself  for  any  other  end 
than  the  advantage  of  number  one,  requests  you  to  take 
notice  that  his  sole  end  is  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good 
of  mankind.  And  the  transparent  pretext,  which  infuri- 
ates the  perspicacious  few,  is  found  to  succeed  with  the 


l88  CHARACTERISTICS. 

undisceming  many.  In  John  Woolman  there  was  no 
parade  of  unselfishness,  though  unselfish  he  was  as  few 
men  in  this  world  have  been  or  will  be.  His  peculiar 
self-sacrifice  and  self-denial  were  too  genuine  to  be  mis- 
taken j  they  commanded  reverence  without  exciting  de- 
rision. He  possessed  to  a  remarkable  degree  that  qual- 
ity which  Dr.  Arnold  calls  moral  thoughtfulness,  which 
makes  a  man  love  Christ  instead  of  being  a  fanatic, 
and  love  truth  without  being  cold  or  hard.  In  Norse 
mythology,  Odin's  ravens,  memory  and  reflection,  are 
perched  upon  the  god's  shoulders,  and  whisper  into  his 
ear  what  they  see  and  hear.  He  sends  them  out  at  May- 
break  to  fly  over  the  world,  and  they  come  back  at  eve 
towards  meal-time.  Hence  it  is  that  Odin  knows  so 
much,  and  is  called  the  raven-god.  Woolman 's  quiet  re- 
flection and  boundless  charity  opened  the  windows  of  his 
mind  to  all  winged  suggestions,  and  his  heart  abounded 
in  true  wisdom.  Peaceful  and  unaggressive,  the  way  was 
sure  to  be  opened  to  whatever  he  conceived  to  be  his 
duty,  and  his  very  peacefulness  preserved  him  in  the  dis- 
charge of  it.  Every  good  influence  stands'  round  such  a 
man  in  any  extremity.  Three  cubs,  say  the  Buddhists, 
the  lioness  brings  forth,  five  the  tigress,  but  one  the  cow ; 
yet  many  are  the  meek  cattle,  few  the  beasts  of  prey. 
The  fierce  and  grasping  soon  decay ;  the  universe  pre- 
serves to  the  peaceful  the  heritage  of  the  earth. 

The  quiet  influence  of  one  wise  man,  who  never  bullies 
the  world  with  his  own  excellence^  may  not  be  calculated. 
Confucius  seldom  claimed  any  superiority  above  his  fel- 
low-creatures. He  offered  his  advice  to  those  who  were 
willing  to  listen  ;  but  he  never  spoke  dogmatically ;  he 
never  attempted  to  tyrannize  over  the  minds  or  hearts  of 
his  friends.  "  If  we  read  his  biography,"  says  a  distin- 
guished Orientalist,  "we  can  hardly  understand  how  a 
man  whose  life  was  devoted  to  such  tranquil  pursuits,  and 
whose  death  scarcely  produced  a  ripple  on  the  smooth 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  189 

and  silent  surface  of  the  Eastern  world,  could  have  left 
the  impress  of  his  mind  on  millions  and  millions  of  hu- 
man beings  —  an  impress,  which  even  now,  after  more 
than  two  thousand  three  hundred  years,  is  clearly  dis- 
cernible in  the  national  character  of  the  largest  empire 
in  the  world."  The  lives  and  teachings  of  such  men  are 
like  the  mighty,  noiseless  influences  of  nature.  In  Java 
the  vegetation  has  forced  asunder  and  thrown  down  the 
largest  blocks  of  masonry,  and  has  inflicted  no  little  dam- 
age upon  the  Hindoo  ruins  :  literally  has  "  the  wild  fig-tree 
split  their  monstrous  idols."  The  Brighton  emeralds,  orig- 
inally bits  of  the  thick  bottoms  of  broken  bottles,  thrown 
purposely  into  the  sea  by  the  lapidaries  of  the  place,  are  by 
the  attrition  of  the  shingle  speedily  converted  into  the 
form  of  natural  pebbles,  and  sold  at  high  prices.  The  Chi- 
nese are  in  the  habit  of  producing  pearls  artificially  by  the 
introduction  of  small  images  of  Buddha  into  the  mussels, 
which  in  the  course  of  time  are  covered  with  the  pearly 
substance.  We  hardly  think  of  the  prodigious  work  of 
those  quiet  subsoilers,  the  common  earth-worms.  The 
ground  is  almost  alive  with  them.  Wherever  mould  is 
turned  up,  there  these  sappers  and  miners  are  turned  up 
with  it.  They  have  been  called  nature's  plowmen.  They 
bore  the  stubborn  soil  in  every  direction,  and  render 
it  pervious  to  air,  rain,  and  the  fibres  of  plants.  With- 
out these  auxiliaries  the  farmer,  says  Gilbert  White,, 
would  find  that  his  land  would  become  cold,  hard-bound, 
and  sterile.  The  green  mantle  of  vegetation  which  cov- 
ers the  earth  is  dependent  upon  the  worms  which  bur- 
row in  the  bowels  of  it.  When  the  rose  bud  blossomed 
in  the  bower,  the  Persians  have  it,  a  nightingale  said  to 
the  falcon,  "  How  is  it  that  thou,  being  silent,  bearest  the 
prize  from  all  birds  ?  Thou  hast  not  spoken  a  pleasing 
word  to  any  one  ;  yet  thy  abode  is  the  wrist  of  the  king, 
and  thy  food  the  delicate  partridge.  I  who  produce  a 
hundred  musical  gems  in  a  moment  have  the  worm  for 


190  CHARACTERISTICS. 

my  food  and  the  thorn  for  my  mansion."  The  falcon  re- 
plied, "  For  once  be  all  ear.  I  who  perform  a  hundred 
acts  repeat  not  one.  Thou  who  performest  not  one  deed 
displayest  a  thousand.  Since  I  am  all  intelligence  in  the 
hunt,  the  king  gives  me  dainty  food  and  his  wrist.  Since 
thou  art  one  entire  motion  of  a  tongue,  eat  worms  and  sit 
on  thorns  ;  and  so  peace  be  with  you."  The  Turks  have 
a  tale,  that  as  a  king  of  Bactria  was  pursuing  the  chase 
one  day,  he  felt  hungry,  and  sat  down  to  eat.  And  while 
he  was  eating,  a  bee  came,  seized  a  morsel  of  bread,  and 
flew  slowly  away  with  it.  Wondering  thereat,  the  king 
followed  the  bee,  which  led  him  to  where  sat  on  a  bough 
a  sparrow  blind  of  both  eyes,  which  opened  its  beak  wide 
as  soon  as  it  heard  the  bee's  humming.  And  the  bee 
broke  the  bread  into  three  pieces,  fed  the  bird  with  them, 
and  then  flew  away.  When  the  king  saw  this  wondrous 
work  of  God  he  renounced  all  earthly  ties,  and  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  All-True. 

John  Woolman's  kindness  went  hand  in  hand  with  his 
quietness.  He  saw  some  good  in  every  body,  and  was 
careful  not  to  extinguish  it.  He  never  scolded.  A  saint 
would  be  damned  by  unintermitted  scolding.  It  was 
Mary  Lamb,  we  believe,  who  said  that  a  babe  is  fed  with 
milk  and  praise.  John  Woolman  did  not  blame  whom 
he  sought  to  benefit,  if  he  did  not  praise.  No  man  was 
so  bad  as  to  appear  in  his  eyes  wholly  blameworthy,  and 
so  he  easily  gained  the  ears  of  the  most  abandoned.  In 
Sir  William  Jones's  Persian  grammar  may  be  found  the 
beautiful  story  from  Nizami.  It  cannot  be  too  often  re- 
peated for  the  lesson  it  teaches.  One  evening  Jesus  arrived 
at  the  gates  of  a  certain  city,  and  sent  his  disciples  for- 
ward to  prepare  supper,  while  he  himself,  intent  on  doing 
good,  walked  through  the  streets  into  the  market-place. 
And  he  saw  at  the  corner  of  the  market  some  people 
gathered  together,  looking  at  an  object  on  the  ground ; 
and  he  drew  near  to  see  what  it  might  be.     It  was  a  dead 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  191 

dog,  with  a  halter  round  his  neck,  by  which  he  appeared 
to  have  been  dragged  through  the  dirt;  and  a  viler,  a 
more  abject,  or  more  unclean  thing  never  met  the  eyes 
of  man.  And  those  who  stood  by  looked  on  with  abhor- 
rence. "  Faugh  !  "  said  one,  stopping  his  nose,  "  it  pol- 
lutes the  air  !  "  "  How  long,"  said  another,  "  shall  this 
foul  beast  offend  our  sight  ?  "  "  Look  at  his  torn  hide," 
said  a  third  ;  "  one  could  not  even  cut  a  shoe  out  of  it." 
"  And  his  ears,"  said  a  fourth,  "  all  draggled  and  bleed- 
ing !  "  "  No  doubt,"  said  a  fifth,  "  he  has  been  hanged 
for  thieving."  And  Jesus  heard  them,  and  looking  down 
compassionately  on  the  dead  creature,  he  said,  "  Pearls 
are  not  equal  to  the  whiteness  of  his  teeth  !  "  Then  the 
people  turned  towards  him  with  amazement,  and  said 
among  themselves,  "  Who  is  this  ?  It  must  be  Jesus  of 
Nazareth,  for  only  he  could  find  something  to  pity  and 
approve  in  a  dead  dog."  And  being  ashamed,  they 
bowed  their  heads  before  him,  and  went  each  on  his  way. 
We  all  know  how  even  brutes  are  influenced  by  kind- 
ness. A  market-gardener  had  a  very  fine  cow  that  was 
milked  week  after  week  by  hired  men.  He  observed  that 
the  amount  of  butter  he  carried  to  market  weighed  about 
a  pound  more  on  each  alternate  week.  He  watched  the 
men,  and  tried  the  cow  after  they  had  finished  milking, 
but  always  found  that  there  was  no  milk  to  be  had.  He 
finally  asked  the  Scotch  girl  who  took  care  of  the  milk  if 
she  could  account  for  the  difference.  "  Why,  yes,"  she 
said.  "  When  Jim  milks  he  says  to  the  cow,  *  So,  my 
pretty  creature,  so  ! '  But  when  Sam  milks  he  hits  her  on 
the  hips  with  the  edge  of  the  pail,  and  says,  *  Hoist,  you 
old  brute  ! '  "  Hawthorne,  in  his  English  Note-Books, 
speaks  of  a  donkey  that  stubbornly  refused  to  come  out 
of  a  boat  which  had  brought  him  across  the  Mersey ;  at 
last,  after  many  kicks  had  been  applied,  and  other  perse- 
cutions of  that  kind,  a  man  stepped  forward,  addressing 
him  affectionately,  "  Come  along,  brother,"  and  the  don- 
key obeyed  at  once. 


192  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  I  once  asked  a  successful  peach-grower,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Venable,  "  how  it  was  that  he  always  had  plenty  of 
excellent  fruit,  while  his  neighbors,  with  apparent  equal 
facilities,  failed  more  than  half  the  time  to  obtain  any 
crop  at  all,  and  always  failed  to  raise  first-rate  peaches. 
Said  he  :  '  I  know  my  trees ;  they  tell  me  what  they 
need ;  I  have  a  special  interest  in  every  twig  of  this  or- 
chard. A  peach-tree  will  not  produce  unless  you  love 
it' " 

Some  years  ago  a  pretty  French  girl  sold  violets  at  the 
steps  of  one  of  the  New  York  hotels.  She  had  her  reg- 
ular customers,  who  could  always  be  counted  upon  to 
purchase.  One  morning  very  early  we  happened  to  be 
passing  just  when  she  was  taking  her  flowers  out  of  her 
basket*  to  display  them  on  the  table.  "  Your  violets  look 
very  beautiful  this  morning,"  we  said.  "  Yes,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  glow  upon  her  face ;  "  when  I  went  out 
into  the  garden  at  day-break,  they  were  all  talking  to  one 
another  !  "  Then  we  knew  why  her  violets  were  always 
so  beautiful.  She  loved  them,  and  they  grew  better  for 
her. 

Moral  honesty  was  a  conspicuous  trait  in  the  character 
of  John  Woolman.  A  religion  without  it  he  could  not 
comprehend ;  certainly  it  was  not  the  religion  of  Christ. 
"They  that  cry  down  moral  honesty,"  said  old  John  Sel- 
den,  "  cry  down  that  which  is  a  great  part  of  religion,  my 
duty  towards  God,  and  my  duty  towards  man.  What 
care  I  to  see  a  man  run  after  a  sermon,  if  he  cozens  and 
cheats  as  soon  as  he  comes  home  ? "  The  integrity  of 
John  Woolman  was  complete  :  it  was  so  perfect  as  to  ap- 
pear "  a  law  of  nature  with  him,  rather  than  a  choice  or  a 
principle." 

His  good  influence,  everywhere  that  he  went  —  in  his 
own  America  and  in  London  streets  —  amongst  slave- 
drivers  and  sailors  —  the  worst  men  and  the  most  aban- 
doned women — reminds  us,  in  some  respects,  of  the  monk 


THE  CHRISTIANITY  OF  WOOLMAN.  193 

Basle,  of  whom  it  is  related  that,  being  excommunicated 
by  the  Pope,  he  was,  at  his  death,  sent  in  charge  of  an 
angel  to  find  a  fit  place  of  suffering  in  hell ;  but  such  was 
the  excellence  of  his  manner  that,  wherever  he  went,  he 
was  received  gladly,  and  civilly  treated,  even  by  the  most 
uncivil  angels;  and,  when  he  came  to  discourse  with 
them,  instead  of  contradicting  or  forcing  him,  they  took 
his  part  and  adopted  his  manners :  and  even  good  angels 
came  from  far  to  see  him,  and  take  up  their  abode  with 
him.  The  angel  that  was  sent  to  find  a  place  of  torment 
for  him  attempted  to  remove  him  to  a  worse  pit,  but  with 
no  better  success ;  for  such  was  the  spirit  of  the  monk, 
that  he  found  something  to  praise  in  every  place  and 
company,  though  in  hell,  and  made  a  kind  of  heaven  of 
it.  At  last  the  escorting  angel  returned  with  his  prisoner 
to  them  that  sent  him,  saying,  that  no  phlegethon  could 
be  found  that  would  burn  him  ;  for  that,  in  whatever  con- 
dition, Basle  remained  incorrigibly  Basle.  The  legend 
says,  his  sentence  was  remitted,  and  he  was  allowed  to 
go  into  heaven,  and  was  canonized  as  a  saint. 

John  Woolman  was  pure,  and  in  every  situation  re- 
mained pure.  It  has  been  said  by  naturalists  that  hun- 
ters, when  in  pursuit  of  the  ermine,  spread  with  mire  all 
the  passes  leading  to  its  haunts,  to  which  they  drive  it, 
knowing  that  it  will  submit  to  be  taken  rather  than  defile 
itself.  John  Woolman  was  so  pure  that  in  any  extremity 
he  would  have  suffered  everything  rather  than  be  defiled. 

He  was  a  Christian,'  and  lived  very  near  the  Divine 
pattern.  He  loved  God  and  his  fellow-man.  The  Golden 
Rule  was  his  rule  of  life  :  he  applied  it,  and  lived  by  it. 
Christian  Faith,  such  as  his,  is  "  a  grand  cathedral,  with 
divinely  pictured  windows.  Standing  without,  you  see 
no  glory,  nor  can  possibly  imagine  any ;  standing  within, 
every  ray  of  light  reveals  a  harmony  of  unspeakable 
splendors." 

Two  miles  out  of  Cracow,  the  ancient  capital  of  Po- 
13 


194  CHARACTERISTICS. 

land,  stands  the  Hill  of  Kosciuszko.  It  has  received  its 
name  from  a  lofty  mound  of  earth  which  was  heaped  up 
on  the  top  of  it  in  honor  of  the  patriot  after  his  death. 
Nobles,  burghers,  ladies,  labored  with  their  own  hands  in 
piling  it  up ;  bags  and  baskets  filled  with  earth  were 
brought  from  every  part  of  the  dominions  of  the  ancient 
Polish  kingdom  to  be  added  to  the  heap  ;  and  thus  it 
was  raised  in  a  steep  grass-covered  cone,  to  a  height  of 
more  than  eighty  feet  above  the  top  of  the  hill.  Some 
such  everlasting  monument  should  be  erected  to  the 
memory  of  Woolman.  A  vast  plateau  might  be  selected, 
sacred  forever  to  the  purpose,  and  upon  it,  if  possible, 
might  be  deposited,  by  every  Christian,  every  struggling 
poor  man,  every  man  who  has  been  a  serf  or  a  slave,  his 
tribute  of  earth,  that  so  a  mighty  mountain  might  be 
raised,  to  tell  to  all  the  world  that  such  a  man  as  John 
Woolman  had  lived. 


VIII. 
JOHN   RANDOLPH   AND  JOHN   BROWN. 

Two  of  the  really  great  men  that  America  has  pro- 
duced were  John  Randolph  and  John  Brown.  We  speak 
of  them  in  the  order  of  chronology.  Two  more  antithetic 
types  could  hardly  be  named.  One  was  a  born  aristocrat, 
the  other  a  born  democrat,  and  as  such  they  incarnated 
the  two  civilizations  that  have  been  in  irreconcilable  con- 
flict since  the  foundation  of  the  Nation,  and  that  finally 
produced  the  Civil  War. 

John  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  to  use  his  own  language, 
"  was  ushered  into  this  world  of  woe  "  on  the  second  day 
of  June,  1773.  The  mansion-house  in  which  he  was  bom 
is  described  as  of  ample  proportions,  -with  offices  and  ex- 
tended wings,  and  as  not  an  unworthy  representative  of 
the  baronial  days  in  which  it  was  built  —  when  Virginia 
cavaliers,  under  the  title  of  gentlemen,  with  their  broad 
domain  of  virgin  soil,  and  long  retinue  of  servants,  lived 
in  a  style  of  elegance  and  profusion,  not  inferior  to  that 
of  the  barons  of  England.  The  first  of  his  name  that 
emigrated  to  Virginia  was  Colonel  William  Randolph,  an 
English  gentleman,  who  died  in  1711.  He  was  the  father 
of  seven  sons  and  two  daughters,  who  became  the  pro- 
genitors of  a  widespread  and  numerous  race,  embracing 
the  most  wealthy  families,  and  many  of  the  most  distin- 
guished names  in  Virginia  history.  His  descendants  were 
active  promoters  of  the  Revolution.  John,  the  father  of 
John  of  Roanoke,  with  two  other  relatives,  sold  forty 
slaves,  and  with  the  money  purchased  powder  for  the  use 
of  the  colony.     He  married  Jane  Boiling,  a  descendant 


196  CHi*  RACTERISTICS. 

of  Pocahontas,  the  beautiful  Indian  princess,  daughter  of 
Powhatan,  between  whom  and  Randolph  there  was  said 
to  be  a  striking  resemblance. 

The  birthplace  of  Randolph,  before  referred  to,  was 
consumed  by  fire,  also,  the  home  of  his  childhood,  also, 
the  house  where  he  spent  the  first  fifteen  years  of  his 
manhood.  He  was  asked  by  a  friend,  after  the  latter 
place  was  burned,  why  he  did  not  write  something  to 
leave  behind  him.  "  Too  late,  sir,  too  late,"  was  the  re- 
ply ;  "  all  I  ever  wrote  perished  in  the  flames ;  it  is  too 
late  to  restore  it  now."  He  felt  and  owned  himself  to 
be  a  child  of  destiny ;  he  had  a  work  given  him  to  do, 
but  some  cross  fate  prevented  ;  he  failed  to  fulfill  his  des- 
tiny, and  was  wretched.  "  My  whole  name  and  race,"  he 
was  heard  to  say,  "  lie  under  a  curse.  I  am  sure  I  feel 
the  curse  cleaving  to  me." 

As  a  child,  he  is  described  as  delicate,  reserved,  and 
beautiful.  He  said  of  himself  that  "  but  for  a  spice  of 
the  devil  in  his  temper,"  his  delicacy  and  effeminacy  of 
complexion  would  have  consigned  him  to  the  distaff  or  the 
needle.  Before  he  was  four  years  old,  he  was  known  to 
swoon  away  in  a  fit  of  passion,  and  with  diflficulty  could 
be  restored :  "  an  evidence  of  the  extreme  delicacy  of  his 
constitution,  and  the  uncontrollable  ardor  of  a  temper 
that  required  a  stronger  frame  to  repress  and  restrain  it." 
In  those  fits  of  passion,  his  mother  only,  by  her  caresses, 
was  able  to  soothe  him.  She  was  the  one  only  human 
being,  he  said,  who  understood  him.  She  was  a  woman, 
we  are  informed,  not  only  of  superior  personal  attrac- 
tions, but  excelled  all  others  of  her  day  in  strength  of 
intellect.  Her  death,  when  he  was  fifteen  years  old,  nearly 
broke  his  heart.  She  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of 
England,  a  faith  from  which,  we  are  assured,  her  son  never 
long  departed.  She  carefully  guarded  his  associations. 
"  He  was  allowed,"  it  was  said,  "  to  come  in  contact  with 
nothing  low,  vulgar,  or  mean."     So,  by  training,  as  well 


JOHN   RANDOLPH.  I97 

as  by  natural  bent,  the  child  became  "father  of  the 
man." 

Some  attention  was  paid  to  his  education  at  home  by 
his  step-father  and  by  his  mother.  He  was  too  delicate, 
however,  to  be  confined  to  study,  and  having  "  a  spice  of 
the  devil  in  his  temper,"  not  much  progress  was  made. 
But  he  was  not  idle.  There  was  a  certain  closet,  it  is 
known,  to  which  he  stole  away  and  secreted  himself  when- 
ever he  could.  It  was  well  stored  with  good  books.  Be- 
fore he  was  eleven  years  of  age  he  had  read  Voltaire's 
History  of  Charles  XH.  of  Sweden,  Humphry  Clinker, 
Reynard  the  Fox,  Shakespeare,  the  Arabian  Nights,  Gold- 
smith's Roman  History,  an  old  History  of  Braddock's 
War,  Don  Quixote,  Gil  Bias,  Quintus  Curtius,  Plutarch, 
Pope's  Homer,  Robinson  Crusoe,  Gulliver,  Tom  Jones, 
Orlando  Furioso,  and  Thomson's  Seasons  !  Fit  resource 
for  the  "thin-skinned,  sensitive,  impulsive,  imaginative 
boy,"  subject  to  "  fits  of  passion  and  swooning."  "  I  have 
been  all  my  life,"  he  said,  "  the  creature  of  impulse,  the 
sport  of  chance,  the  victim  of  my  own  uncontrolled  and 
uncontrollable  sensations  ;  of  a  poetic  temperament.  I 
admire  and  pity  all  who  possess  this  temperament." 

In  the  year  1781  the  family  were  hastened  from  their 
home  by  the  invasion  of  Virginia  by  Benedict  Arnold,  — 
Mr.  Tucker,  young  Randolph's  step-father,  joining  Gen- 
eral Greene,  then  manoeuvring  before  Cornwallis's  army 
on  the  borders  of  North  Carolina  and  Virginia,  and  after- 
ward joining  La  Fayette,  with  whom  he  continued  until 
the  capture  of  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown.  John  was  left 
with  his  mother  during  tiiis  stirring  period.  Her  precepts, 
it  is  easy  to  believe,  were  law  to  his  plastic  mind.  When 
riding  over  the  vast  Roanoke  estates  one  day,  she  took 
John  up  behind  her,  and  waving  her  hand  over  the  broad 
acres  spread  before  them,  she  said,  "  Johnny,  all  this  land 
belongs  to  you  and  your  brother  Theodorick ;  it  is  your 
father's  inheritance.      When  you  get  to   be  a  man  you 


198  CHARACTERISTICS. 

must  not  sell  your  land  ;  it  is  the  first  step  to  ruin  for  a 
boy  to  part  with  his  father's  home  :  be  sure  to  keep  it  as 
long  as  you  live.  Keep  your  land  and  your  land  will 
keep  you."  In  relating  this  anecdote,  Mr.  Randolph  said 
it  made  such  an  impression  on  his  mind  that  it  governed 
his  future  life.  He  was  confident  it  saved  him  from  many 
errors.  "  He  never  did  part  with  his  father's  home.  His 
attachment  to  the  soil,  the  old  English  law  of  inherit- 
ance, and  a  landed  aristocracy,  constituted  the  most  re- 
markable trait  in  his  character."  After  the  Virginia  law 
of  descents  was  changed,  he  said,  "  The  old  families  of 
Virginia  will  form  connections  with  low  people,  and  sink 
into  the  mass  of  overseers'  sons  and  daughters ;  and  this 
is  the  legitimate,  nay,  inevitable  conclusion  to  which  Mr. 
Jefferson  and  his  leveling  system  has  brought  us." 

The  next  two  years,  from  nine  till  eleven,  he  spent  at 
schools  in  Orange  county  and  the  city  of  Williamsburg. 
At  the  latter,  it  is  related,  the  boys  were  in  the  habit  of 
acting  plays  in  the  original  language  from  Plautus  and 
Terence.  John  was  always  selected  to  perform  the  fe- 
male parts.  His  feminine  appearance,  and  the  "  spice  of 
the  devil  in  his  temper,"  rendered  him,  it  was  said,  pecul- 
iarly fitted  for  that  purpose,  and  his  performance  was  ad- 
mirable. His  proud  temper  and  reserved  manners  pre- 
vented him  from  forming  any  intimate  associations  with 
his  school-fellows.  He,  it  is  stated,  "shunned  vulgar 
society,  and  repelled  familiarity." 

At  eleven  he  went  with  his  parents  to  the  island  of 
Bermuda,  where  he  remained  eighteen  months.  While 
there  he  read  Chatterton  and  Rowley,  Young  and  Gay. 
Percy's  Reliques  and  Chaucer  became  his  favorites.  A 
year  or  two  after  his  return  from  Bermuda,  he  went  to 
Princeton,  thence  to  Columbia  College,  in  New  York- 
"At  Princeton  College,"  he  says,  "where  I  spent  a  few 
months,  the  prize  of  elocution  was  borne  away  by  mouth- 
ers and  ranters.     I  never  would  speak  if  I  could  possi- 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  I99 

biy  avoid  it,  and  when  I  could  not,  repeated  without  ges- 
ture, the  shortest  piece  that  I  had  committed  to  memory. 
I  was  then  as  conscious  of  my  superiority  over  my  com- 
petitors in  delivery  and  elocution,  as  I  am  now  that  they 
are  sunk  in  oblivion ;  and  I  despised  the  award  and  the 
umpires  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I  believe  that  there 
is  nowhere  such  foul  play  as  among  professors  and 
schoolmasters ;  more  especially  if  they  are  priests.  I 
have  had  a  contempt  for  college  honors  ever  since." 

In  New  York  he  took  much  interest  in  passing  events. 
His  letters  were  considered  very  extraordinary  for  a  boy 
of  fifteen.  One  of  them  was  upon  "  alien  duties  "  exacted 
by  the  custom-house  there  ;  another  described  with  par- 
ticularity the  first  inauguration  of  Washington  as  Presi- 
dent. 

At  sixteen  he  had  abandoned  classical  study,  turning 
his  attention  and  reflection  to  other  fields.  While  yet 
a  youth,  he  was  in  daily  intercourse  with  statesmen  and 
men  of  learning.  He  enjoyed  great  and  rare  opportuni- 
ties for  acquiring  information  on  those  subjects  towards 
which  his  mind,  he  said,  had  "  a  precocious  proclivity." 
He  was  a  constant  attendant  on  the  sittings  of  the  first 
Congress,  which  sat  in  New  York.  "  I  was  at  Federal 
Hall,"  he  said  long  afterwards,  in  a  speech;  "I  saw 
Washington,  but  could  not  hear  him  take  the  oath  to  sup- 
port the  Federal  Constitution.  The  Constitution  was  in 
a  chrysalis  state.  I  saw  what  Washington  did  not  see  ; 
but  two  other  men  in  Virginia  saw  it  —  George  Mason 
and  Patrick  Henry  —  the  poison  under  its  wings"  — 
meaning  too  great  a  consolidation  of  power  in  the  Gen- 
eral Government,  and  too  small  a  recognition  of  the 
rights  of  the  States.  With  Henry,  also,  he  saw  the  "  aw- 
ful squintings  towards  monarchy  "  in  the  Executive.  He 
was,  says  his  biographer,  bred  up  in  the  school  of  Mason 
and  of  Henry.  His  step-father,  his  uncles,  his  brother, 
and   all  with  whom  he  associated,  imbibed  the  sentiments 


200  CHARACTERISTICS. 

of  those  statesmen,  shared  their  devotion  to  the  princi- 
ples and  the  independence  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Vir- 
ginia, and  participated  in  all  their  objections  to  the  new 
government.  Young  Randolph,  as  we  have  seen,  was  a 
constant  attendant  on  the  debates  of  the  first  Congress, 
which  had  devolved  on  it  the  delicate  task  of  organizing 
the  government,  and  setting  its  wheels  in  motion.  It  was 
amid  these  scenes,  and  by  associating  with  such  men, 
that  his  political  principles  were  formed  and  established, 
and  from  which  he  never  swerved.  His  jealousy  of  the 
power  of  the  Federal  Government,  and  his  zeal  for  the 
rights  of  the  States,  increased  rather  than  diminished. 
Upon  the  removal  of  the  seat  of  government  to  Philadel- 
phia, he  went  with  it,  where  he  remained,  with  short 
intervals,  till  the  spring  of  1 794,  when  he  returned  to  Vir- 
ginia. 

He  became  extremely  fond  of  the  writings  of  Edmund 
Burke,  and  they  are  said  by  Garland,  in  his  careful  his- 
tory of  his  character,  proclivities,  and  career,  to  have 
been  the  key  to  his  political  opinions.  In  after  life,  we 
are  told,  as  he  grew  in  experience,  those  opinions  became 
more  and  more  assimilated  to  the  doctrines  of  his  great 
master.  His  position  in  society,  his  large  hereditary 
possessions,  his  pride  of  ancestry,  his  veneration  for  the 
Commonwealth  of  Virginia,  her  ancient  laws  and  institu- 
tions; his  high  estimation  of  the  rights  of  property  in 
the  business  of  legislation,  —  all  conspired  to  shape  his 
thoughts,  and  mould  them  in  matters  pertaining  to  do- 
mestic polity  after  the  fashion  of  those  who  have  faith  in 
the  old,  the  long-established,  and  the  venerable. 

While  in  Philadelphia,  he  attended  several  courses  of 
lectures  on  anatomy  and  physiology.  In  April,  1794,  he 
returned  to  Virginia.  In  June  he  was  twenty-one  years 
old,  when  he  took  upon  himself  the  management  of  his 
vast  patrimonial  estates.  At  twenty-three  he  had  the 
appearance  of  a  youth  of  sixteen,  and  was  not  growa 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  201 

He  grew,  it  is  said,  a  full  head  taller  after  this  period. 
The  death  of  his  oldest  brother  at  about  this  time,  was  a 
terrible  blow  to  him.  A  relative,  who  slept  in  the  room 
under  his,  said  she  never  waked  in  the  night  that  shd  did 
not  hear  him  moving  about,  sometimes  striding  across 
the  floor,  and  exclaiming,  "Macbeth  hath  murdered 
sleep  !  Macbeth  hath  murdered  sleep  !  "  She  knew  him 
to  have  his  horse  saddled  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  ride 
over  the  plantation  with  loaded  pistols.  His  natural 
temper,  we  are  informed,  became  more  repulsive ;  he  had 
no  confidential  friend,  nor  would  any  tie,  however  sa- 
cred, excuse  inquiry.  He  was  never  in  one  place  long 
enough  to  study  much,  yet  he  was  known  to  turn  over  the 
leaves  of  a  book  carelessly,  then  lay  it  down,  and  tell 
more  about  it  than  those  who  had  studied  it. 

In  the  winter  of  1799,  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  his 
age,  he  was  announced  as  a  candidate  for  Congress.  On 
March  court  day,  the  venerable  Patrick  Henry  and  the 
youthful  John  Randolph  met,  for  the  first  time,  at  Char- 
lotte Court  House  —  the  one  to  make  his  last  speech,  the 
other  his  first  —  the  one  the  candidate  of  George  Wash- 
ington for  a  seat  in  the  legislature  of  Virginia,  the  other 
a  self-announced  candidate  for  Congress  —  the  one  the 
champion  of  the  Federal,  the  other  the  champion  of  the 
Republican  cause.  The  occasion  and  event  will  long  be 
memorable.  The  young  man,  says  the  historian  of  the 
contest,  who  was  to  answer  the  venerable  orator,  if  in- 
deed the  multitude  suspected  that  any  one  would  dare 
venture  on  a  reply,  was  unknown  to  fame.  A  tall,  slen- 
der, effeminate-looking  youth  was  he  ;  light  hair,  combed 
back  into  a  well-adjusted  cue  —  pale  countenance,  a  beard- 
less chin,  bright,  quick,  hazel  eye,  blue  frock,  buff  small- 
clothes, and  fair-top  boots.  He  was  doubtless  known  to 
many  on  the  court  green  as  the  little  Jack  Randolph  they 
had  frequently  seen  dashing  by  on  wild  horses,  from  one 
of  his  estates  to  another.     A  few  knew  him  more  inti- 


202  CHARACTERISTICS. 

mately,  but  none  had  ever  heard  him  speak  in  public,  or 
even  suspected  that  he  could  make  a  speech.  His 
friends  knew  his  powers,  his  fluency  in  conversation,  his 
ready  wit,  his  polished  satire,  his  extraordinary  knowl- 
edge of  men  and  affairs ;  but  still  he  was  about  to  enter 
on  an  untried  field,  and  all  those  brilliant  faculties  might 
fail  him,  as  they  had  so  often  failed  men  of  genius  be- 
fore. 

Henry,  old  and  feeble,  spoke  first,  in  his  usual  eloquent 
manner,  for  two  hours.  Randolph  followed.  He  spoke, 
it  is  said,  for  three  hours ;  all  that  time  the  people,  stand- 
ing on  their  feet,  hung  with  breathless  silence  on  his  lips. 
His  youthful  appearance,  boyish  tones,  clear,  distinct, 
thrilling  utterance  ;  his  graceful  action,  bold  expression, 
fiery  energy,  and  manly  thoughts,  struck  the  multitude 
with  astonishment.  A  bold  genius  and  an  orator  of  the 
first  order  had  suddenly  burst  upon  them,  and  dazzled 
them  with  his  power  and  brilliancy.  The  orators,  both 
of  whom  were  elected,  dined  together  after  the  contest, 
and  Randolph  ever  after  venerated  the  memory  of  Henry, 
who  died  in  a  few  weeks. 

Randolph's  first  speech  in  Congress  was  on  a  resolu- 
tion to  repeal  an  act  to  augment  the  army.  It  was  ener- 
getic and  fierce,  and  in  it  he  applied  the  epithet  "  raga- 
muffins "  to  the  soldiers  enlisted  in  the  army ;  which 
caused  him  to  be  insulted  by  two  young  officers  in  the 
theatre,  of  which  insult  he  complained  in  plain  language 
to  the  President,  John  Adams.  The  President  enclosed 
Randolph's  letter  to  the  House  of  Representatives,  with 
a  not  very  agreeable  intimation  as  to  its  "  matter  and 
style."  The  affair  created  much  excitement  throughout 
the  country,  and  was  considered  by  Randolph  and  his 
friends  "  as  but  one  of  a  series  of  events  that  had  for 
their  end  the  subjugation  of  the  people  to  the  will  of  the 
federal  oligarchy." 

He  was  too  impatient  and  violent  to  be  trusted  as  a 


JOHN   RANDOLPH.  203 

leader.  He  suspected  corruption  in  many  men  connected 
with  the  administration,  and  he  denounced  them  unspar- 
ingly. What  had  been  called  the  "  colossus  of  turpitude, 
the  Yazoo  speculation,"  was  the  especial  object  of  his 
violent  denunciation. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  fever  and  distraction,  the  issue 
of  an  unfortunate  love  affair  with  one  whom  he  said  he 
loved  more  than  his  "  own  soul,  or  the  God  that  made 
it,"  nearly  unhinged  his  mind.  His  letters  to  his  friends 
about  this  time  are  full  of  wretchedness  and  misery.  He 
purposed  flying  across  the  sea,  but  stayed  at  home  to 
brood.  To  a  friend  who  was  miserable,  he  said  and 
wrote,  "  I,  too,  am  wretched." 

Notwithstanding,  he  took  a  leading  part  in  every  debate 
on  the  floor  of  Congress.  The  first  fourteen  years  of 
his  public  service  covered  discussions  of  an  exciting 
nature  relating  to  our  affairs  with  France,  Spain,  and 
England,  the  Embargo,  the  Gunboat  scheme,  and  the 
war  with  Great  Britain.  The  latter  he  opposed  with  all 
the  vehemence  and  vigor  of  his  mind  and  passions.  For 
that  opposition  and  for  other  reasons  he  was  driven  into 
retirement.  The  election  in  the  spring  of  18 13  resulted 
in  his  defeat,  after  a  contest  of  prodigious  energy  and 
desperation. 

He  said  the  defeat  relieved  him  "  from  an  odious  thrall- 
dom."  He  retired  to  his  home  at  Roanoke,  which  he  de- 
scribed as  "  a  savage  solitude,"  where  he  lived  in  the 
utmost  seclusion.  The  only  companion  of  his  solitude 
was  a  young  relative  he  had  taken  to  live  with  him,  whom 
he  educated  with  much  care  and  at  great  expense.  "  It 
is  indeed,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  a  life  of  seclusion  that 
I  live  here,  uncheckered  by  a  single  ray  of  enjoyment.  I 
try  to  forget  myself  in  books  ;  but  that  *  pliability  of  man's 
spirit '  which  yields  him  up  to  the  illusions  of  the  ideal 
world,  is  gone  from  me  forever."  "  For  my  part,"  writing 
again  to  the  same  friend,  "  it  requires  an  effort  to  take  an 


204  CHARACTERISTICS. 

interest  in  any  thing ;  and  it  seems  to  be  strange  that 
there  should  be  found  inducements  strong  enough  to 
carry  on  the  business  of  the  world."  He  complained  of 
violent  palpitations  of  the  heart.  "  When  the  fit  is  on," 
he  said,  "  it  may  be  seen  through  my  dress  across  the 
room."  Some  months  afterward  he  wrote,  "  Since  the 
hot  weather  set  in,  I  have  been  in  a  state  of  collapse, 
and  am  as  feeble  as  an  infant  —  with  all  this  I  am  tor- 
tured with  rheumatism,  or  gout,  a  wretched  cripple,  and 
my  mind  is  yet  more  weak  and  diseased  than  my  body. 
I  hardly  know  myself,  so  irresolute  and  timid  have  I  be- 
come. In  short,  I  hope  that  there  is  not  another  creature 
in  the  world  as  unhappy  as  myself.  This  I  can  say  to 
you.  To  the  world  I  endeavor  to  put  on  a  different  coun- 
tenance, and  hold  a  bolder  language  j  but  it  is  sheer  hy- 
pocrisy, assumed,  to  guard  against  the  pity  of  mankind." 
About  the  same  time  he  wrote  to  the  same  friend,  "  On 
the  terms  by  which  I  hold  it,  life  is  a  curse,  from  which 
I  would  willingly  escape,  if  I  knew  where  to  fly.  I  have 
lost  my  relish  for  reading ;  indeed,  I  could  not  devour 
even  the  Corsair  with  the  zest  that  Lord  Byron's  pen  gen- 
erally inspires." 

Two  years  after  his  defeat  for  Congress  he  was  elected 
again.  His  candidacy  brought  out  a  swarm  of  detractors, 
whom  he  refused  to  answer.  "  It  is  too  late  in  the  day," 
he  said,  "  to  vindicate  my  public  character  before  a  peo- 
ple whom  I  represented  fourteen  years,  and  whom,  if  they 
do  not  now  know  me,  never  will.  I  therefore  abstain 
from  all  places  of  public  resort,  as  well  from  inclination 
as  principle."  After  the  election,  he  said,  "  I  do  assure 
you  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  that,  so  far  as  I  am  per- 
sonally concerned,  I  cannot  but  regret  the  partiality  of 
my  friends,  who  insisted  on  holding  me  up  on  this  occa- 
sion. I  am  engrossed  by  sentiments  of  a  far  different 
character,  and  I  look  forward  to  the  future  in  this  world, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  next,  with  anticipations  that  forbid 
any  idle  expression  of  exultation." 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  205 

Mr.  Clay  was  his  great  antagonist.  Although  a  Re- 
publican, he  was  accused  of  being  a  Federalist  at  heart, 
and  opposed  to  the  doctrine  of  State  rights.  For  that, 
above  every  thing,  Randolph  was  ever  the  bold  champion. 
He  thus  refers  to  a  memorable  effort,  in  a  letter  dated 
Feb'y  23,  1820,  the  day  after  the  speech  was  delivered : 
"  Yesterday  I  spoke  four  hours  and  a  half  to  as  attentive 
an  audience  as  ever  listened  to  a  public  speaker.  Every 
eye  was  riveted  upon  me,  save  one,  (Mr.  Clay's,)  and  that 
^was  sedulously  and  affectedly  turned  away.  The  ears, 
however,  were  drinking  up  the  words  as  those  of  the  royal 
Dane  imbibed  the  'juice  of  cursed  hebenon,' though  not, 
like  his,  unconscious  of  the  *  leperous  distilment.' " 

The  peculiar  state  of  his  health,  the  excitement  inci- 
dent to  the  settlement  of  the  Missouri  question,  and  the 
death  of  his  friend  Commodore  Decatur  —  who  fell  in  a 
duel  with  Commodore  Barron,  March  20,  1820  —  all  con- 
tributed to  produce  a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  insanity. 
He  went  into  the  United  States  Branch  Bank  at  Rich- 
mond and  asked  for  writing  materials  to  write  a  check. 
He  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  and  finding  that  it  was 
black,  asked  for  red  ink,  saying,  "  I  now  go  for  blood." 
He  filled  the  check  up,  and  asked  the  cashier  to  write  his 
name  to  it.  The  cashier  refused  to  write  his  name  ;  and 
after  importuning  him  for  some  time,  he  called  for  black 
ink,  and  signed  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  X  his  mark. 
At  about  the  same  time,  as  the  same  person,  the  cashier, 
was  passing  along  the  street,  Mr.  Randolph  hailed  him  in 
a  louder  voice  than  usual.  The  first  question  he  asked 
the  gentleman  was,  whether  he  knew  of  a  good  ship  in 
the  James  River  in  which  he  could  get  a  passage  for 
England.  He  said  he  had  been  sick  of  a  remittent  and 
intermittent  fever  for  forty  days,  and  his  physician  said 
he  must  go  to  England.  He  was  told  there  were  no  ships 
there  fit  for  his  accommodation,  and  that  he  had  better 
go  to  New  York,  and  sail  from  that  port.    "  Do  you  think," 


J- 


206  CHriRACTERISTICS. 

said  he,  "  I  would  give  my  money  to  those  who  are  ready 
to  make  my  negroes  cut  my  throat  ?  If  I  cannot  go  to 
England  from  a  Southern  port  I  will  not  go  at  all."  A 
ship  in  the  river  was  then  recommended  to  him.  He 
asked  the  name  of  it,  and  was  told  it  was  the  "  Henry 
Clay."  He  threw  up  his  arms  and  exclaimed,  "  Henry 
Clay !  No,  six  J  I  will  never  step  on  the  planks  of  a 
ship  of  that  name."  Soon  after,  he  drew  all  his  funds  out 
of  the  bank,  and  put  them  in  English  guineas,  —  saying 
there  was  no. danger  of  them.  His  "madness,"  as  they 
called  it,  lasted  but  for  a  few  months.  In  the  autumn 
his  understanding  was  as  good  as  ever. 

The  summer  he  had  spent  at  Roanoke.  "  The  boys,"  as 
he  called  his  wards,  were  off  at  school,  and  he  found  the 
solitude  as  usual,  nearly  intolerable.  His  letters  written 
at  this 'time  abound  in  wise  thoughts.  "  The  true  care  for 
maladies  like  yours,"  he  says  to  one  who  had  written  in  a 
desponding  tone,  "  is  employment.  *  Be  not  solitary ;  be 
not  idle  ! '  was  all  that  Burton  could  advise."  "  One  of 
the  best  and  wisest  men  I  ever  knew  has  often  said  to 
me,  that  a  decayed  family  could  never  recover  its  loss 
of  rank  in  the  world,  until  the  members  of  it  left  off  talk- 
ing and  dwelling  upon  its  former  opulence."  ^  Nothmg 
can  be  more  respectable  than  the  independence  "that 
grows  out  of  self  denial.  The  man  who,  by  abridging  his 
wants,  can  find  time  to  devote  to  the  cultivation  of  his 
mind,  or  the.jaiii  of  his  fellow-creatures,  is  a  being  far 
above  the  plodding  sons  of  industry  and  gain.  He  is  a 
spirit  of  the  noblest  order. '"^  "  You  know  my  opinion  of 
female  society.  Without  it,  we  should  degenerate  into 
brutes.  To  a  young  man,  nothing  is  so  important  as  a 
spirit  of  devotion  (next  to  his  Creator)  to  some  virtuous 
and  amiable  woman,  whose  image  may  occupy  his  heart, 
and  guard  it  from  the  pollution  which  besets  it  on  all 
sides."  -  "  If  matrimony  has  its  cares,  celibacy  has  no 
pleasures.     A  Newton,  or  a  mere  scholar,  may  find  em- 


JOHN   RANDOLPH.  20/ 

ployment  in  study ;  a  man  of  literary  taste  can  receive, 
in  books,  a  powerful  auxiliary ;  but  a  man  must  have  a 
bosom  friend,  and  children  around  him,  to  cherish  and 
support  the  dreariness  of  old  age."  Before  leaving  home 
he  wrote  his  will,  which  emancipated  all  of  his  slaves,  and 
provided  for  their  maintenance. 

In  the  spring  of  1822,  immediately  after  a  speech  of 
two  hours  against  the  Bankrupt  Bill,  he  set  out  for  New 
York  to  embark  for  Liverpool.  The  sea  seemed  to  stim- 
ulate him.  His  social  talents  were  exhibited  in  a  manner 
highly  delightful  to  the  passengers.  "  He  proposed  one 
fine  morning,"  said  one  of  them,  "  to  read  (Halleck's) 
Fanny  to  me  aloud,  and  on  deck,  where  we  were  enjoying 
a  fine  breeze  and  noonday  sun.  It  was  the  most  amus- 
ing '  reading  '  I  ever  listened  to.  The  notes  were  much 
longer  than  the  poem  ;  for,  whenever  he  came  to  a  well- 
known  name,  up  went  his  spectacles  and  down  went  the 
book,  and  he  branched  off  into  some  anecdote  of  the  per- 
son or  of  his  family.  Thus  we  '  progressed '  slowly  from 
page  to  page,  and  it  actually  consumed  three  mornings- 
before  we  reached  — 

*  And  music  ceases  when  it  rains 
In  Scudder's  balcony.' " 

His  visit  to  the  House  of  Lords  was  characteristic. 
He  refused  to  be  admitted  at  the  lower  door.  "  Do  you 
suppose,"  he  said  to  the  friend  who  held  the  tickets,,"  that 
I  would  consent  to  struggle  with  and  push  through  the 
crowd  of  persons  who,  for  two  long  hours,  must  fight  their 
way  in  at  the  lower  door }  Oh,  no  sir !  I  shall  do  no 
such  thing ;  and  if  I  cannot  enter  as  a  gentleman  com- 
moner I  go  not  at  all."  They  separated  —  the  friend  to 
struggle  in  with  the  crowd,  half  suffocated  by  the  long 
and  perilous  exertion.  "  Casting  a  glance  toward  the 
throne,"  said  he,  "  soon  after  my  entrance,  to  my  no  small 
surprise  and  envy,  I  beheld  *  Randolph  of  Roanoke '  in 


208  CHARACTERISTICS. 

all  his  glory,  walking  in  most  leisurely,  and  perfectly  at 
home,  alongside  of  Canning,  Lord  Castlereagh,  Sir  Robert 
Peel,  and  many  other  distinguished  members  of  the  House 
of  Commons." 

While  in  England  he  had  interviews  of  the  most  inter- 
esting character  with  Mrs.  Fry,  Moore,  Miss  Edgeworth, 
Wilberforce,  and  others,  besides  making  a  speech  at  a 
meeting  of  the  African  Institution  in  London,  expressing 
in  his  usual  vigorous  way  an  abhorrence  of  the  slave- 
trade. 

The  following  winter,  from  his  place  on  the  floor  of 
Congress,  he  spoke  a  cheering  word  for  the  Greeks.  The 
speech  was  one  of  his  best,  and  attracted  great  attention. 
Other  speeches  followed  on  Internal  Improvements,  the 
Tariff,  and  other  public  questions.  The  next  summer  he 
made  another  voyage  to  Europe.  In  the  spring  of  1825 
he  was  again  a  candidate  for  Congress  —  "  that  bear  gar- 
den," he  called  it,  "of  the  House  of  Representatives." 
On  the  1 8th  of  April  —  the  day  of  the  election — he 
made  a  speech  at  Prince  Edward  Court  House,  which  is 
referred  to  by  Garland  —  who  was  then  a  boy  —  in  his 
biography  of  Randolph.  The  theme  of  his  discourse 
was  the  "  alarming  encroachments  of  the  General  Gov- 
ernment upon  the  rights  of  the  States."  "  I  shall  never 
forget  the  manner  of  the  man,"  says  Garland.  "  The 
tall,  slender  figure,  swarthy  complexion,  animated  counte- 
nance ;  the  solemn  glance,  that  passed  leisurely  over  the 
audience,  hushed  into  deep  silence  before  him,  and  bend- 
ing forward  to  catch  every  look,  every  motion  and  every 
word  of  the  inspired  orator ;  the  clear,  silver  tones  of  his 
voice  ;  the  distinct  utterance  —  full,  round  expression, 
and  emphasis  of  his  words ;  the  graceful  bend  and  easy 
motion  of  the  person,  as  he  turned  from  side  to  side  ;  the 
rapid,  lightning-like  sweep  of  the  hand  when  something 
powerful  was  uttered  ;  the  earnest,  fixed  gaze,  that  fol- 
lowed, as  if  searching  into  the  hearts  of   his  auditors, 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  209 

while  his  words  were  telling  upon  them  ;  then,  the  omi- 
nous pause,  and  the  movement  of  that  long,  slender  fore- 
finger, that  accompanied  the  keen,  cutting  sarcasm  of  his 
words  —  all  these  I  can  never  forget." 

The  following  December  he  was  elected  to  the  Senate. 
In  his  speech  before  that  body  upon  the  message  of  the 
President,  John  Quincy  Adams,  in  answer  to  resolutions 
relating  to  the  Panama  Mission,  Mr.  Randolph  said: 
*  Who  made  him  a  judge  of  our  usages  ?  Who  consti- 
tuted him  ?  He  has  been  a  professor,  I  understand.  I 
wish  he  had  left  off  the  pedagogue  when  he  got  into  the 
Executive  chair.  Who  made  him  the  censor  morum  of 
this  body  ?  Will  any  one  answer  this  question  ?  Yes  or 
no  ?  Who  ?  Name  the  person.  Above  all,  who  made 
him  the  searcher  of  hearts,  and  gave  him  the  right,  by  an 
innuendo  black  as  hell,  to  blacken  our  motives }  Blacken 
our  motives !  I  did  not  say  that  then.  I  was  more  under 
self-command  ;  I  did  not  use  such  strong  language.  I 
said,  if  he  could  borrow  the  eye  of  Omniscience  himself, 
and  look  into  every  bosom  here ;  if  he  could  look  into 
that  most  awful,  calamitous,  and  tremendous  of  all  gulfs, 
the  naked  unveiled  human  heart,  stripped  of  all  its  cover- 
ing of  self-love,  exposed  naked,  as  to  the  eye  of  God  —  I 
said  if  he  could  do  that,  he  was  not,  as  President  of  the 
United  States,  entitled  to  pass  upon  our  motives,  although 
he  saw  and  knew  them  to  be  bad.  I  said,  if  he  had  con- 
verted us  to  the  Catholic  religion,  and  was  our  father 
confessor,  and  every  man  in  this  House  at  the  footstool 
of  the  confessional  had  confessed  a  bad  motive  to  him  by 
the  laws  of  his  church,  as  by  this  Constitution,  above  the 
law  and  above  the  church,  he,  as  President  of  the  United 
States,  could  not  pass  on  our  motives,  though  we  had  told 
him  with  our  own  lips  our  motives,  and  confessed  they 
were  bad.  I  said  this  then,  and  I  say  it  now.  Here  I 
plant  my  foot ;  here  I  fling  defiance  right  into  his  teeth 
before  the  American  people ;  here  I  throw  the  gauntlet  to 
14 


210  CHARACTERISTICS. 

him  and  the  bravest  of  his  compeers,  to  come  forward 
and  defend  these  miserable  lines  :  '  Involving  a  departure, 
hitherto,  as  far  as  I  am  informed,  without  example,  from 
that  usage,  and  upon  the  motives  for  which,  not  being  in- 
formed of  them,  I  do  not  feel  myself  competent  to  decide.' 
Amiable  modesty  !  I  wonder  we  did  not,  all  at  once,  fall 
in  love  with  him,  and  agree,  una  voce,  to  publish  our  pro- 
ceedings, except  myself,  for  I  quitted  the  Senate  ten  min- 
utes before  the  vote  was  taken.  I  saw  what  was  to  follow  j 
I  knew  the  thing  would  not  be  done  at  all,  or  would  be 
done  unanimously.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  the  remon- 
strance of  friends,  I  went  away,  not  fearing  that  any  one 
would  doubt  what  my  vote  would  have  been,  if  I  had 
stayed.  After  twenty-six  hours'  exertion,  it  was  time  to 
give  in.  I  was  defeated,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons  —  cut 
up,  and  clean  broke  down  by  the  coalition  of  Blifil  and 
Black  George  —  by  the  combination,  unheard  of  till  then, 
of  the  puritan  with  the  blackleg." 

The  epithet  "  blackleg,"  as  every  body  knew,  referred 
to  Clay,  and  resulted  in  a  duel.  Randolph  did  not  deny 
the  use  of  the  offensive  word.  The  parties  met  the  suc- 
ceeding evening  at  four  o'clock  on  the  banks  of  the  Po- 
tomac. The  sun  was  just  setting  behind  the  blue  hills. 
An  accident  occurred  by  which  Randolph's  pistol  dis- 
charged, with  the  muzzle  down,  before  the  word  was  given. 
Clay  at  once  exclaimed  that  it  was  an  accident.  On  the 
virord  being  given.  Clay  fired,  without  effect,  Randolph 
discharging  his  pistol  in  the  air.  The  moment  Clay  saw 
that  Randolph  had  thrown  away  his  fire,  "with  a  gush  of 
sensibility,"  he  instantly  approached  Randolph,  and  said 
with  emotion^  "  I  trust  in  God,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  un- 
touched ;  I  would  not  have  harmed  you  for  a  thousand 
worlds." 

One  of  his  greatest  speeches  was  on  Negro  Slavery  in 
South  America.  His  views  were  radical  on  every  thing 
relating  to  slavery.    He  said  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  From 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  211 

the  institution  of  the  Passover  to  the  latest  experience  of 
man,  it  would  be  found,  that  no  two  distinct  people  could 
occupy  the  same  territory,  under  one  government,  but  in 
the  relation  of  master  and  vassal." 

Early  in  May,  1826,  before  the  adjournment  of  Con- 
gress, he  v/ent  to  Europe  for  a  third  time.  He  traveled 
extensively  in  England,  Wales,  and  on  the  Continent. 
The  next  year  he  was  defeated  for  the  Senate,  but  was 
re-elected  by  his  old  district  to  a  seat  in  the  House.  The 
summer  was  spent,  as  usual,  at  Roanoke.  "  I  am  dying," 
he  said,  "  as  decently  as  I  can." 

In  January,  1829,  he  wrote  from  Washington,  "  It  won't 
do  for  a  man,  who  wishes  to  indulge  in  dreams  of  human 
dignity  and  worth,  to  pass  thirty  years  in  public  life.  Al- 
though I  do  believe  that  we  are  the  meanest  people  in  the 
world  —  I  speak  of  this  *  court '  and  its  retainers  and  fol- 
lowers. I  am  super-saturated  with  the  world,  as  it  calls 
itself,  and  have  now  but  one  object,  which  I  shall  keep 
steadily  in  view,  and  perhaps  some  turn  of  the  dice  may 
enable  me  to  obtain  it :  it  is  to  convert  my  property  into 
money,  which  will  enable  me  to  live,  or  rather  to  die, 
where  I  please  ;  or  rather  where  it  may  please  God." 

The  same  year  he  retired  from  the  public  service,  as  he 
supposed,  forever;  but  a  Convention  had  been  called  to 
amend  the  Constitution  of  Virginia,  and  he  was  elected 
a  member  of  it  without  consulting  him.  He  watched  the 
proceedings  of  that  body  with  unremitting  attention,  and 
spoke  to  it  upon  important  questions  with  quite  his  usual 
power. 

Before  Mr.  Randolph  took  his  seat  in  the  Convention 
he  had  been  offered  the  mission  to  Russia  by  President 
Jackson.  He  was  not,  however,  called  upon  to  assume 
the  duties  of  his  mission  till  the  May  following.  In  June 
he  set  sail.  In  the  autumn  of  the  following  year  (1832) 
he  returned  to  the  United  States,  much  reduced  in  health. 
His  friends  were  shocked  at  his  emaciated  appearance. 


212  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Some  misapprehension  as  to  his  conduct  in  St.  Peters- 
burgh,  caused  him  to  make  a  speech  in  explanation.  But 
his  last  energies  were  to  be  expended  in  a  conflict  more 
serious  than  any  in  which  he  had  been  engaged.  The 
authority  of  the  General  Government  and  the  rights  of 
the  States  were  fairly  in  antagonism.  Congress  had 
passed  a  new  tariff  law,  and  South  Carolina  had  pro- 
claimed by  ordinance  that  she  would  not  obey  it.  Gen- 
eral Jackson  proclaimed  that  the  law  should  be  obeyed. 
Randolph,  the  champion  of  State  rights,  justified  South 
Carolina  in  her  attitude  of  nullification.  Although  he 
had  to  be  lifted  into  his  carriage  like  an  infant,  he  went 
from  county  to  count}'-,  speaking  to  the  people  in  his  old 
tones  with  his  accustomed  fire.  His  only  hope  of  salva- 
tion for  the  country  was  in  his  old  antagonist,  Henry 
Clay.  "  I  know  he  has  the  power,"  he  said,  "  I  believe 
he  will  be  found  to  have  the  patriotism  and  firmness  equal 
to  the  occasion." 

On  his  way  to  Philadelphia,  whence  he  expected  to  be 
able  to  embark  for  Europe,  he  visited  the  Senate  Cham- 
ber, and  took  his  seat  in  the  rear  of  Mr.  Clay,  who 
happened  to  be  on  his  feet  addressing  the  Senate.  "  Raise 
me  up!"  said  Randolph;  "I  want  to  hear  that  voice 
again."  When  Mr.  Clay  had  concluded  his  remarks, 
which  were  very  few,  he  turned  round,  to  see  from  what 
quarter  that  singular  voice  proceeded.  Seeing  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, and  that  he  was  in  a  dying  condition,  he  left  his 
place  and  went  to  speak  to  him  ;  as  he  approached,  Mr. 
Randolph  said  to  the  gentleman  with  him,  "Raise  me 
up !  "  As  Mr.  Clay  offered  his  hand,  he  said,  "  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, I  hope  you  are  better,  sir."  "  No,  sir,"  replied 
Randolph,  "  I  am  a  dying  man,  and  I  came  here  expressly 
to  have  this  interview  with  you." 

He  was  indeed  a  dying  man.  He  managed,  however, 
to  get  to  Philadelphia,  where  he  soon  died,  at  the  City 
Hotel.    Not  long  before  his  death  he  had  been  lying  per- 


JOHN  BROWN.  213 

fectly  quiet,  with  his  eyes  closed.  He  suddenly  roused 
up  and  exclaimed  —  "  Remorse  !  remorse  !  "  It  was 
twice  repeated  —  the  last  time  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
with  great  agitation.  He  cried  out  —  "Let  me  see  the 
word.  Get  a  dictionary.  Let  me  see  the  word."  "  There 
is  none  in  the  room,  sir."  "Write  it  down,  then  —  let 
me  see  the  word."  The  doctor  picked  up  one  of  his 
cards,  "Randolph  of  Roanoke"  —  "Shall  I  write  it  on 
this  card  ?  "  "  Yes,  nothing  more  proper."  The  word 
remorse  was  then  written  in  pencil.  He  took  the  card  in 
a  hurried  manner,  and  fastened  his  eyes  on  it  with  great 
intensity.  "Write  it  on  the  back,"  he  exclaimed  —  it 
was  so  done  and  handed  him  again.  He  was  extremely 
agitated  —  "  Remorse  !  you  have  no  idea  what  it  is  ;  you 
can  form  no  idea  of  it  whatever ;  it  has  contributed  to 
bring  me  to  my  present  situation  —  but  I  have  looked  to 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  hope  I  have  obtained  pardon. 
Now  let  John  take  your  pencil  and  draw  a  line  under  the 
word,"  which  was  accordingly  done.  "  What  am  I  to  do 
with  the  card  ? "  inquired  the  doctor.  "  Put  it  in  your 
pocket  —  take  care  of  it — when  I  am  dead,  look  at  it." 

In  a  few  minutes  —  after  a  few  hurried  words  relating 
to  his  will  —  John  Randolph  was  no  more. 

John  Brown  was  born  on  the  9th  day  of  May,  1800., 
His  parents  were  poor,  but  eminently  of  good  repute* 
The  first  of  his  ancestry  on  the  paternal  side  that  we 
have  any  account  of  came  over  on  the  Mayflower.  His 
mother  was  a  descendant  of  Peter  Miles,  an  early  emi- 
grant from  Holland,  a  tailor  by  trade,  who  died  in  1754, 
at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty-eight.  His  father  and 
grandfather,  and  his  mother's  father  and  grandfather, 
all  served  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution.  His  grand- 
father died  in  a  barn  near  New  York,  while  in  the  ser- 
vice. This  is  the  inscription  on  his  grave-stone  :  "  The 
memory  of  Captaiix  John  Brown,  who  died  in  the  Revolu- 


214  CHARACTERISTICS. 

tionary*army,  at  New  York,  September  3,  17 76.  He  was 
of  the  fourth  generation,  in  regular  descent,  from  Peter 
Brown,  one  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  who  landed  from  the 
Mayflower  at  Plymouth,  Massachusetts,  December  22, 
1620."  He  left  a  widow  and  eleven  children.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  she  reared  these  children  with  singular  taste 
and  judgment,  to  habits  of  industry  and  principles  of 
virtue,  as  all  became  leading  citizens  in  the  communities 
in  which  they  resided.  One  of  the  sons  became  a  judge 
in  one  of  the  courts  of  Ohio.  One  of  the  daughters  gave 
to  one  of  the  most  flourishing  of  New  England's  colleges 
a  president  for  twenty  years,  in  the  person  of  her  son. 
She  is  described  as  a  woman  of  great  energy  and  econ- 
omy —  the  economy  being  a  needful  virtue.  She  cooked 
"  always  just  what  the  children  needed,  and  no  more,  and 
they  always  *  licked  their  trenchers,'  when  they  had  done 
with  knife  and  fork." 

John  Brown  lived  at  Torrington,  Connecticut,  his  birth- 
place, until  he  was  five  years  old,  when  he  emigrated  with 
his  father  to  Hudson,  Ohio.  The  latter  soon  became 
one  of  the  principal  pioneer  settlers  of  the  new  town  ; 
was  ever  respected  for  his  probity  and  honor ;  was  com- 
monly called  'Squire  Brown,  and  was  one  of  the  Board 
of  Trustees  of  Oberlin  College  ;  was  endowed  with  en- 
ergy and  enterprise,  and  went  down  to  his  grave  honored 
and  respected,  about  the  year  1852,  at  the  ripe  age  of 
eighty-seven.  He  was  an  earnestly  devout  and  religious 
man,  of  the  old  Connecticut  fashion.  He  was  an  invet- 
erate and  most  painful  stammerer  —  "  the  first  specimen 
of  that  infirmity  that  I  had  seen,"  says  an  early  friend  of 
the  Brown  family,  "  and,  according  to  my  recollection,  the 
worst  that  I  have  ever  known  to  this  day ;  and  I  have 
never  seen  a  man  struggling  and  half  strangled  with  a 
word  stuck  in  his  throat,  without  remembering  good  Mr. 
Owen  Brown,  who  could  not  speak  without  stammering  — 
except  in  prayer." 


JOHN   BROWN.  215 

When  John  was  four  years  old,  he  tells  us  himself,  in 
the  little  sketch  he  made  for  the  amusement  of  a  child, 
that  "  he  was  tempted  by  three  large  brass  pins  belonging 
to  a  girl  in  the  family,  and  stole  them.  In  this  he  was 
detected  by  his  mother,  and,  after  having  a  full  day  to 
think  of  the  wrong,  received  from  her  a  thorough  whip- 
ping." He  preferred,  he  says,  remaining  at  home  to  work 
hard,  rather  than  to  go  to  school.  In  warm  weather,  he 
says,  he  "  might  generally  be  seen  barefooted  and  bare- 
headed, with  buckskin  breeches,  suspended  with  one 
leather  strap  over  his  shoulder,  but  sometimes  with  two." 
He  delighted  to  be  sent  great  distances  through  the  wil- 
derness alone.  Sometimes  he  was  sent  a  hundred  miles, 
all  alone,  in  charge  of  herds  of  cattle.  He  says  he 
"  would  have  thought  his  character  much  injured  had  he 
been  obliged  to  be  helped  in  such  a  job."  This  life  in 
the  woods  gave  him  the  habits  and  the  keen  senses  of  a 
hunter  or  an  Indian.  He  told  a  friend  that  he  became 
remarkably  clear-sighted  and  quick  of  ear,  and  that  he 
had  smelled  the  frying  of  doughnuts,  when  he  was  very 
hungry,  at  five  miles  distance.  He  knew  all  the  devices 
of  woodcraft ;  declared  he  could  make  a  dinner  for  forty 
men  out  of  the  hide  of  one  ox,  and  thought  he  understood 
how  to  provide  for  an  army's  subsistence.  During  the 
war  with  England,  his  father  furnished  the  troops  with 
beef  cattle,  the  collecting  and  driving  of  which  afforded 
John  opportunity,  which  he  enjoyed,  of  chasing  the  wild 
cattle,  when  they  broke  away,  panic-stricken,  through  the 
unbroken  forest. 

At  the  age  of  ten  years,  an  old  friend  induced  him  to 
read  a  little  history,  and  offered  him  the  free  use  of  his 
library  ;  in  that  way  he  acquired  some  taste  for  reading, 
which  formed,  he  says,  the  principal  part  of  his  early  edu- 
cation. He  became  very  fond  of  the  company  and  con- 
versation of  old  and  intelligent  persons.  "  He  learned 
nothing  of  grammar,  nor  of    composition ;   nor  did  he  get 


2l6  CHARACTERISTICS. 

at  school  so  much  knowledge  of  common  arithmetic  as 
the  four  ground  rules.  This  will  give  the  reader  some 
general  idea  of  the  first  fifteen  years  of  his  life;  dur- 
ing which  time  he  became  very  strong  and  large  of  his 
age,  and  ambitious  to  perform  the  full  labor  of  a  man, 
at  almost  any  kind  of  hard  work.  By  reading  the  lives 
of  great,  wise,  and  good  men  —  their  sayings  and  writ- 
ings—  he  grew  to  a  dislike  of  vain  and  frivolous  con- 
versation and  persons  ;  and  was  often  greatly  obliged  by 
the  kind  manner  in  which  older  and  more  intelligent  per- 
sons treated  him  at  their  homes."  He  joined  the  Con- 
gregational Church  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  with  which,  and 
the  Presbyterian  Church,  he  was  connected  till  the  day  of 
his  death. 

The  years  from  fifteen  to  twenty  were  mostly  spent  in 
acquiring  the  trade  of  a  tanner  and  currier  —  a  part  of 
the  time  acting  in  the  capacity  of  foreman.  His  atten- 
tion to  business,  and  success  in  its  management,  made 
him  a  favorite  with  older  and  graver  persons.  From  the 
age  of  fifteen  he  felt  a  great  anxiety  to  study ;  but  an  in- 
flammation of  the  eyes  prevented  close  application.  He 
managed,  however,  to  become  pretty  well  acquainted  with 
arithmetic  and  surveying,  which  latter  he  practiced  more 
or  less  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  At  nineteen  or  twenty,  he 
left  Ohio  and  went  East,  to  acquire  a  liberal  education. 
His  ultimate  design,  it  is  stated,  was  the  ministry.  At 
Plainfield,  Massachusetts,  he  was  fitted  or  nearly  fitted 
for  college.  A  brother  of  his  teacher  thus  describes  John 
Brown  as  he  appeared  at  that  time  :  "  He  was  a  tall,  se- 
date, dignified  young  man.  He  had  been  a  tanner,  and 
relinquished  a  prosperous  business  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
tellectual improvement,  but  with  what  ultimate  end  I  do 
not  now  know.  He  brought  with  him  a  piece  of  sole- 
leather,  about  a  foot  square,  which  he  himself  had  tanned 
for  seven  years,  to  resole  his  boots.  He  had  also  a  piece 
of  sheep-skin  which  he  had  tanned,  and  of  which  he  cut 


JOHN  BROWN.  217 

some  strips  about  an  eighth  of  an  inch  wide  for  other 
students  to  pull  upon.  My  father  took  one  string,  and, 
winding  it  around  his  fingers,  said,  *  I  shall  snap  it.'  The 
very  marked,  yet  kind  unmovableness  of  the  young  man's 
face  on  seeing  my  father's  defeat  —  my  father's  own  look, 
and  the  position  of  the  people  and  things  in  the  old 
kitchen  —  somehow  gave  me  a  fixed  recollection  of  the 
little  incident."  While  pursuing  his  studies,  he  was  again 
attacked  with  inflammation  of  the  eyes,  and  he  returned 
to  Ohio.  "  God,"  says  his  admiring  biographer,  "  had 
higher  work  for  this  sedate,  dignified  young  man  than  to 
write  and  deliver  sermons  to  a  parish.  He  was  raising 
him  up  as  a  deliverer  of  captives  and  a  teacher  of  right- 
eousness to  a  nation ;  as  the  conserver  of  the  light  of 
true  Christianity,  when  it  was  threatened  with  extinction, 
under  the  rubbish  of  creeds  and  constitutions,  and  iniq- 
uities enacted  into  laws." 

When  he  was  just  entering  upon  his  twenty-first  year 
he  was  married.  He  describes  his  young  wife  as  remark- 
ably plain  j  neat,  industrious,  and  economical  ;  of  excel- 
lent character ;  earnest  piety ;  good  practical  common 
sense  ;  and  about  one  year  younger  than  himself.  This 
woman,  he  says,  by  her  mild,  frank,  and,  more  than  all 
else,  very  consistent  conduct,  acquired  and  maintained 
while  she  lived  a  powerful  and  good  influence  over  him. 
Her  plain  but  kindly  admonitions  generally  had  the  right 
effect,  without  arousing  his  haughty,  obstinate  temper. 
Her  name  was  Dianthe  Lusk,  by  whom  he  had  seven 
children.  Some  time  after  her  death,  he  married  Mary 
A.  Day,  by  whom  he  had  thirteen  children  —  twenty  in 
all. 

From  his  twenty-first  to  his  twenty-sixth  year,  John 
Brown  was  engaged  in  the  tanning  business,  and  as  a 
farmer  in  Ohio.  In  1826  he  went  to  Pennsylvania,  where 
he  carried  on  the  tanning  business  for  nine  years.  One 
of  his  apprentices  at  this  period  informed  his  biographer 


2l8  CHARACTERISTICS. 

that  he  was  characterized  by  singular  probity  of  life,  and 
by  his  strong  and  "  eccentric  "  benevolent  impulses.  He 
refused  to  sell  leather  until  the  last  drop  of  moisture  had 
been  dried  from  it,  "lest  he  should  sell  his  customer  water, 
and  reap  the  gain."  He  is  said  to  have  caused  a  man  to 
be  arrested,  or  rearrested,  for  some  small  offense,  simply 
because  he  thought  the  crime  should  be  punished ;  and 
his  benevolence  induced  him  to  supply  the  wants  of  the 
offender  out  of  his  private  means,  and  to  provide  for  the 
family  until  the  trial. 

He  returned  to  Ohio  in  1835,  where  he  again  engaged 
in  tanning,  and  trading  in  real  estate.  The  latter  turned 
out  to  be  unfortunate.  He  then  took  a  drove  of  cattle  to 
Connecticut,  and  returned  with  a  flock  of  sheep, —  his 
first  purchases  in  that  business,  in  which  afterward  he 
became  pretty  largely  interested.  In  1840  he  went  to 
Hudson  again,  and  engaged  in  the  wool  business.  His 
partner  there  says  of  him :  "  From  boyhood  I  have 
known  him  through  manhood ;  and  through  life  he  has 
been  distinguished  for  his  truthfulness  and  integrity ;  he 
has  ever  been  esteemed,  by  those  who  have  known  him, 
as  a  very  conscientious  man." 

It  was,  we  are  told,  in  1839  that  he  conceived  the  idea 
of  becoming  a  liberator  of  the  Southern  slaves.  He  had 
been  an  abolitionist  since  he  was  twelve  years  old,  but 
now  he  determined  to  devote  his  life,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
the  cause  of  liberty  against  slavery,  and  to  the  rescue  of 
slaves.  His  devotion  to  the  cause  was  intensely  earnest 
and  heroic.  "  He  had  elements  of  character,"  said  one 
who  knew  him  well,  "  which,  under  circumstances  favora- 
ble to  their  proper  development  and  right  direction,  would 
have  made  him  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  the  world. 
Napoleon  himself  had  no  more  blind  and  trusting  confi- 
dence in  his  own  destiny  and  resources;  his  iron  will  and 
unbending  purpose  were  equal  to  that  of  any  man,  living 
or  dead ;  his  religious  enthusiasm  and  sense  of  duty  were 


JOHN  BROWN.  219 

earnest  and  sincere,  and  not  excelled  by  that  of  Oliver 
Cromwell  or  any  of  his  followers ;  while  no  danger  could 
for  a  moment  alarm  or  disturb  him.  His  manner,  though 
conveying  the  idea  of  a  stern  and  self-sustaining  man,  was 
yet  gentle  and  courteous,  and  marked  by  frequent  and 
decided  manifestations  of  kindness  ;  and  it  can  probably 
be  said  of  him,  with  truth,  that,  amid  all  his  provocations, 
he  never  perpetrated  an  act  of  wanton  or  unnecessary 
cruelty.  He  was  scrupulously  honest,  moral,  and  tem- 
perate, and  never  gave  utterance  to  a  boast." 

He  was  a  very  early  riser,  and  a  very  hard  worker. 
His  dress  is  described  as  extremely  plain ;  never  in  the 
fashion,  and  never  made  of  fine  cloth.  But  he  was 
always  scrupulously  clean  and  tidy  in  his  personal  appear- 
ance. "When  first  I  saw  him,"  says  Redpath,  "at  his 
camp  in  Kansas,  although  his  clothing  was  patched  and 
old,  and  he  was  almost  barefooted,  he  was  as  tidy,  both  in 
person  and  dress,  as  any  gentleman  of  Boston." 

He  was  extremely  fond  of  music.  "  I  once  saw  him," 
said  a  friend,  "  sit  listening  with  the  most  rapt  attention 
to  Schubert's  Serenade,  played  by  a  mutual  acquaintance, 
and,  when  the  music  ceased,  tears  were  in  the  old  man's 
eyes.  He  was  indeed  most  tender-hearted  —  fond  of 
children  and  pet  creatures,  and  always  enlisted  on  the 
weaker  side.  The  last  time  I  saw  him  in  Boston,  he  had 
been  greatly  annoyed  by  overhearing  in  the  street  some 
rude  language  addressed  to  a  black  girl,  who,  he  said, 
would  never  have  been  insulted  if  she  had  been  white." 

"  John  Brown  was  always  very  agreeable,"  said  Judge 
Russell,  of  Boston,  in  a  recent  address.  "  He  used  to 
hold  up  my  little  girl,  eighteen  months  old,  and  say: 
*  Now,  when  I  am  hung  for  treason,  you  can  say  that  you 
used  to  stand  on  old  Captain  Brown's  hand.'  He  walked 
the  floor  at  night  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  occa- 
sionally brought  out  an  idea.  One  I  remember  very  dis- 
tinctly:    *It  would  be  better  that  a  whole  generation 


220  CHARACTERISTICS. 

should  perish  from  the  earth,  than  that  one  truth  in  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  or  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence should  be  forgotten  among  men.'  " 

He  went  to  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  in  1846,  and 
engaged  again  in  the  wool  business.  His  book-keeper 
describes  him  as  a  quiet  and  peaceable  citizen,  whose  in- 
tegrity was  never  doubted ;  honorable  in  all  his  dealings, 
but  peculiar  in  many  of  his  notions,  and  adhering  to  them 
with  great  obstinacy.  He  and  his  eldest  son  discussed 
slavery  by  the  hour  in  the  counting-room  ;  he  said  it  was 
right  for  slaves  to  kill  their  masters  and  escape,  and 
thought  slaveholders  were  guilty  of  a  very  great  wicked- 
ness. While  at  Springfield  he  went  to  Europe  to  look 
after  his  wool  interests.  He  interested  himself  in  agri- 
culture, but  particularly  in  the  armies  of  Great  Britain 
and  the  Continent.  He  visited  several  of  the  battle  fields 
of  Napoleon  :  he  thought  him  wrong  in  several  points  of 
strategy,  particularly  in  his  choice  of  ground  for  a  strong 
position ;  which  Brown  maintained  should  be  a  ravine 
rather  than  a  hill-top.  He  said  that  a  ravine  could  be 
held  by  a  few  men  against  a  larger  force ;  that  he  had 
acted  on  this  principle  in  Kansas,  and  never  suffered 
from  it.  He  ascribed  his  winning  the  battle  of  Black 
Jack  to  his  choice  of  ground. 

In  1849,  he  removed  his  family  to  North  Elba,  in  Essex 
County,  New  York.  It  was  at  about  this  time,  as  stated 
by  his  biographer,  that  Gerritt  Smith  offered  to  colored 
settlers  his  wild  lands  in  that  district  of  the  Adirondack 
wilderness.  Many  of  them  accepted  the  offer,  and  went 
there  to  make  the  experiment.  At  this  period,  it  is  re- 
lated, John  Brown  appeared  one  day  at  Peterboro',  and 
said  to  Mr.  Smith,  "  I  see,  by  the  newspapers,  that  you 
have  offered  so  many  acres  of  wild  land  to  each  of  the 
colored  men,  on  condition  that  they  cultivate  them.  Now, 
they  are  mostly  inexperienced  in  this  kind  of  work,  and 
unused  to  the  climate,  while  I  am  familiar  with  both.     I 


JOHN  BROWN.  221 

propose,  therefore,  to  take  a  farm  there  myself,  clear  it 
and  plant  it,  showing  the  negroes  how  such  work  should 
be  done.  I  will  also  employ  some  of  them  on  my  land, 
and  will  look  after  them  in  all  ways,  and  will  be  a  kind  of 
father  to  them."  Mr.  Smith  accepted  the  humane  pro- 
posal, gave  John  Brown  the  land,  and  allowed  him  to  make 
the  experiment,  although  he  had  never  before  seen  him. 
So  far  as  the  negroes  were  concerned,  this  proved  a  fail- 
ure, but,  it  is  believed,  through  no  fault  of  Brown's.  He 
did  his  part  faithfully  by  them.  He  had,  it  is  known, 
a  higher  notion  of  the  capacity  of  the  negro  race  than 
most  white  men.  He  was  often  heard  to  dwell  on  this 
subject,  and  mention  instances  of  their  fitness  to  take  care 
of  themselves.  He  thought  that  "  perhaps  a  forcible  sep- 
aration of  the  connection  between  master  and  slave  was 
necessary  to  educate  the  blacks  for  self-government;'* 
but  this  he  threw  out  as  a  suggestion  merely. 

The  John  Brown  farm  is  described  as  a  wild  place ; 
cold  and  bleak.  It  is  too  cold  to  raise  corn  there ;  they 
can  scarcely,  in  the  most  favorable  seasons,  obtain  a  few 
ears  for  roasting.  Stock  must  be  wintered  for  almost 
six  months  in  the  year.  I  was  there,  says  Higginson,  on 
the  first  day  of  November ;  the  ground  was  snowy,  and 
winter  had  apparently  begun  —  and  it  would  last  until  the 
middle  of  May.  They  never  raised  any  thing  to  sell  off 
the  farm,  except  sometimes  a  few  fleeces.  It  was  well, 
the  family  said,  if  they  raised  their  own  provisions,  and 
could  spin  their  own  wool  for  clothing.  *'I  was  the 
first  person,"  said  Higginson,  "who  had  penetrated  their 
solitude  from  the  outer  world  since  the  thunderbolt  had 
fallen.  Do  not  imagine  that  they  asked,  Whaft  is  the  world 
saying  of  us  ?  Will  justice  be  done  to  the  memory  of  our 
martyrs  ?  Will  men  build  the  tombs  of  the  prophets  ? 
Will  the  great  thinkers  of  the  age  affirm  that  our  father 
'makes  the  gallows  glorious,  like  the  cross'?  Not  at 
all ;  they  asked  but  one  question  after  I  had  told  them 


222  CHARACTERISTICS. 

how  little  hope  there  was  of  acquittal  or  rescue.  Does  it 
seem  as  if  freedom  were  to  gain  or  lose  by  this  ?  That 
was  all.  Their  mother  spoke  the  spirit  of  them  all  to 
me,  next  day,  when  she  said,  *  I  have  had  thirteen  chil- 
dren, and  only  four  are  left ;  but  if  I  am  to  see  the  ruin 
of  my  house,  I  cannot  but  hope  that  Providence  may 
bring  out  of  it  some  benefit  to  the  poor  slaves.'  "  *'  Peo- 
ple are  surprised,"  said  Annie  Brown,  "  at  father's  daring 
to  invade  Virginia  with  only  twenty-three  men  ;  but  I 
think  if  they  knew  what  sort  of  men  they  were,  there 
would  be  less  surprise.     I  never  saw  such  men." 

In  1854,  four  sons  of  John  Brown  determined  to  re- 
move to  Kansas.  In  the  summer  of  1855,  in  a  county 
adjoining  Essex,  in  New  York,  a  meeting  of  abolitionists 
was  held.  John  Brown  appeared  in  that  convention,  and 
made  a  very  fiery  speech,  in  which  he  said  he  had  four 
sons  in  Kansas,  and  had  three  others  who  were  desirous 
of  going  there,  to  aid  in  fighting  the  battles  of  freedom. 
He  could  not  consent  to  go  unless  he  could  go  armed, 
and  he  would  like  to  arm  all  his  sons  ;  but  his  poverty 
prevented  him  from  doing  so.  He  stated  that  he  had  only 
two  objects  in  going  to  Kansas  :  first,  to  begin  the  work  for 
which,  as  he  believed,  he  had  been  set  apart,  by  so  acting 
as  to  acquire  the  confidence  of  the  friends  of  freedom, 
who  might  thereby  subsequently  aid  him  ;  and,  secondly, 
because,  to  use  his  own  language,  "with  the  exposure, 
privations,  hardships,  and  wants  of  pioneer  life,  he  was 
familiar,  and  thought  he  could  benefit  his  children,  and 
the  new  beginners  from  the  older  parts  of  the  country, 
and  help  them  to  shift  and  contrive  in  their  new  home." 

The  first  That  we  hear  of  him  there  was  in  a  caucus 
at  Ossawattomie.  A  resolution  had  been  offered  that 
aroused  the  old  man's  anger.  It  declared  that  Kansas 
should  be  a  free  white  State,  thereby  favoring  the  exclu- 
sion of  negroes  and  mulattoes,  whether  slave  or  free.  He 
rose  to  speak,  and,  it  is  stated,  soon  alarmed  and  dis- 


JOHN  BROWN.  223 

gusted  the  politicians  present  by  asserting  the  manhood 
of  the  negro  race,  and  expressing  his  earnest,  anti-slavery 
convictions  with  great  force  and  vehemence. 

In  camp,  it  is  further  stated,  he  permitted  no  manner 
of  profane  language ;  no  man  of  immoral  character  was 
allowed  to  stay,  excepting  as  a  prisoner  of  war.  He  made 
prayers  in  which  all  the  company  united,  every  morning 
and  evening ;  and  no  food  was  ever  tasted  by  his  men 
until  the  divine  blessing  had  been  asked  on  it.  It  is  said 
also  that  he  would  retire  into  the  densest  solitudes  for 
secret  prayer.  One  of  his  company  said  that  after  these 
retirings  he  would  say  that  the  Lord  had  directed  him  in 
visions  what  to  do  ;  that,  for  himself,  he  did  not  love  war- 
fare, but  peace,  —  only  acting  in  obedience  to  the  will  of 
the  Lord,  and  fighting  God's  battles  for  His  children's 
sake. 

At  the  battles  of  Black  Jack  and  Ossawattomie  his  rep- 
utation as  a  guerrilla  commander  was  established.  At 
Black  Jack,  with  a  squad  of  only  a  few  men,  after  a  three 
hours'  fight,  he  succeeded  in  killing,  scattering,  and  cap- 
turing a  superior  force.  Only  two  of  the  Free  State  men 
were  wounded  —  one  of  them  a  son-in-law  of  the  com- 
mander. At  Ossawattomie,  with  a  force  of  not  more  than 
thirty  men,  against  a  formidable  enemy  —  nearly  five  hun- 
dred it  is  stated  —  he  came  out  of  the  conflict  with  one 
dead,  two  wounded,  and  two  missing,  while  the  loss  of 
the  other  side  was  "  thirty-one  or  two  killed,  and  from 
forty  to  fifty  wounded."  The  old  man,  we  are  informed, 
stood  near  a  sapling  during  the  whole  of  the  engagement, 
quietly  giving  directions  to  his  men,  and  "  annoying  the 
enemy  "  with  his  own  steady  rifle,  indifferent  to  the  grape 
shots  and  balls  which  whizzed  around  him,  and  hewed 
down  the  limbs,  scattered  the  foliage,  and  peeled  off  the 
bark  from  the  trees  on  every  side. 

His  conduct  at  the  defense  of  Lawrence  was  charac- 
terized by  the  same  courage  and  ability.      Mounting  a 


224  CHARACTERISTICS. 

dry-goods  box  in  the  main  street,  he  addressed  the  ex- 
cited citizens  as  follows  :  "  Gentlemen,  it  is  said  there  are 
twenty-five  hundred  Missourians  down  at  Franklin,  and 
that  they  will  be  here  in  two  hours.  You  can  see  for 
yourselves  the  smoke  they  are  making  by  setting  fire  to 
the  houses  in  that  town.  Now  this  is  probably  the  last 
opportunity  you  will  have  of  seeing  a  fight ;  so  that  you 
had  better  do  your  best.  If  they  should  come  up  and 
attack  us,  don't  yell  and  make  a  noise,  but  remain  per- 
fectly silent  and  still.  Wait  till  they  get  within  twenty- 
five  yards  of  you  ;  get  a  good  object ;  be  sure  you  see 
the  hind  sight  of  your  gun :  then  fire.  A  great  deal  of 
powder  and  lead,  and  very  precious  time,  are  wasted  by 
shooting  too  high.  You  had  better  aim  at  their  legs  than 
at  their  heads.  In  either  case,  be  sure  of  the  hind  sights 
of  your  guns.  It  is  from  this  reason  that  I  myself  have 
so  many  times  escaped  ;  for,  if  all  the  bullets  which  have 
ever  been  aimed  at  me  had  hit  me,  I  should  have  been  as 
full  of  holes  as  a  riddle." 

After  the  retreat  from  Franklin,  Brown  and  his  four 
sons  left  Lawrence  for  the  East.  Encountering  a  fugitive 
slave  at  Topeka,  they  covered  him  up  in  their  wagon,  and 
carried  him  along  with  them.  We  hear  of  him  in  Iowa, 
in  Cleveland,  then  in  Boston  —  in  Januar}^,  1857  —  where 
he  made  a  speech,  recounting  his  experiences  and  views, 
to  the  Massachusetts  legislature.  As  to  his  appearance 
at  that  time,  an  acquaintance  said :  "  His  brown  coat  of 
the  fashion  of  ten  years  before,  his  waistcoat  buttoning 
nearly  to  the  throat,  and  his  wide  trowsers,  gave  him  the 
look  of  a  well-to-do  farmer  in  his  Sunday  dress  ;  while 
his  patent  leather  stock,  gray  surtout,  and  fur  cap,  added 
a  military  air  to  his  figure.  At  this  time  he  wore  no 
beard."  The  next  we  hear  of  him  is  at  New  York,  at  the 
Metropolitan  Hotel,  on  his  way  to  Philadelphia  and  Wash- 
ington. He  objected  to  the  show  and  extravagance  of 
such  an  establishment  as  the  Metropolitan,  and  said  he 


JOHN  BROWN.  225 

preferred  a  plain  tavern,  where  drovers  and  farmers 
lodged  in  a  plain  way.  Next  he  is  at  his  home  at  North 
Elba.  In  February,  in  Collinsville,  Connecticut,  he  con- 
tracted for  the  manufacture  of  his  pikes.  Every  thing  he 
did  now  bore  as  directly  as  possible  upon  the  final  result, 
so  rapidly  approaching.  He  visited  Kansas  again,  and 
Iowa,  and  Canada,  where  he  conveyed  some  fugitive 
slaves.  Here  the  conspiracy  against  Harper's  Ferry  was 
organized,  but  the  attack  was  not  made  until  the  night  of 
the  17th  day  of  October,  1859.  The  night  before  the  at- 
tack, he  said  to  his  men :  "  Let  me  press  this  one  thing 
on  your  minds.  You  all  know  how  dear  life  is  to  you, 
and  how  dear  your  lives  are  to  your  friends  ;  and,  in  re- 
membering that,  consider  that  the  lives  of  others  are  as 
dear  to  them  as  yours  are  to  you.  Do  not,  therefore, 
take  the  life  of  any  one  if  you  can  possibly  avoid  it ;  but 
if  it  is  necessary  to  take  life,  in  order  to  save  your  own, 
then  make  sure  work  of  it." 

The  Governor  of  the  State  of  Virginia  visited  him  in 
prison,  after  his  capture,  and  said  of  him  :  "  They  them- 
selves are  mistaken  who  take  him  to  be  a  madman.  He 
is  a  bundle  of  the  best  nerves  I  ever  saw,  cut,  and  thrust, 
and  bleeding,  and  in  bonds.  He  is  a  man  of  clear  head, 
of  courage,  fortitude,  and  simple  ingenuousness.  He  is 
cool,  collected,  and  indomitable.  The  gamest  man  I  ever 
saw." 

On  the  scaffold,  at  midday,  under  the  shining  sun,  on 
the  second  day  of  December,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  fifty-nine,  he  died, 

*  John  Brown,  when  he  was  twelve  years  old,  on  seeing 
a  negro  slave  of  his  own  age  cruelly  beaten,  began  to 
hate  slavery  and  love  the  slaves  so  intensely  that  he  some- 
times asked  himself  the  question.  Is  God  their  Father  ? 
At  forty,  he  conceived  the  idea  of  becoming  a  liberator  of 
the  Southern  slaves ;  at  the  same  time  he  determined  to 
*  Library  Notes. 
IS 


226  CHARACTERISTICS. 

let  them  know  that  they  had  friends,  and  prepared  him- 
self to  lead  them  to  liberty.  From  the  moment  that  he 
formed  this  resolution,  he  engaged  in  no  business  which 
he  could  not,  without  loss  to  his  friends  and  family,  wind 
up  in  fourteen  days.  His  favorite  texts  of  Scripture 
were,  "Remember  them  that  are  in  bonds,  as  bound 
with  them  ; "  *'  Whoso  stoppeth  his  ear  at  the  cry  of  the 
poor,  he  also  shall  cry  himself,  but  shall  not  be  heard ; " 
"  Whoso  mocketh  the  poor  reproacheth  his  Maker,  and 
he  that  is  glad  at  calamities  shall  not  be  unpunished ; " 
"  Withhold  not  good  from  them  to  whom  it  is  due,  when 
it  is  in  the  power  of  thine  hand  to  do  it."  His  favorite 
hymns  were,  *' Blow  ye  the  trumpet,  blow!"  and  "Why 
should  we  start  and  fear  to  die  ? "  A  child  asked  him 
how  he  felt  when  he  left  the  eleven  slaves,  which  he  had 
taken  from  Missouri  to  Canada  ?  His  answer  was, 
"  Lord,  permit  now  thy  servant  to  die  in  peace,  for  mine 
eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation.  I  could  not  brook  the 
idea  that  any  ill  should  befall  them,  or  they  be  taken  back 
to  slavery.  The  arm  of  Jehovah  protected  us."  Upon 
one  occasion,  when  one  of  the  ex-governors  of  Kansas 
said  to  him  that  he  was  a  marked  man,  and  that  the  Mis- 
sourians  were  determined,  sooner  or  later,  to  take  his 
scalp,  the  old  man  straightened  himself  up,  with  a  glance 
of  enthusiasm  and  defiance  in  his  gray  eye :  "  Sir,"  said 
he,  "  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  will  camp  round  about  me." 
On  leaving  his  family  the  first  time  he  went  to  Kansas,  he 
said,  "  If  it  is  so  painful  for  us  to  part,  with  the  hope  of 
meeting  again,  how  dreadful  must  be  the  separation  for 
life  of  hundreds  of  poor  slaves."  He  deliberately  deter- 
mined, we  are  assured,  twenty  years  before  his  attack 
upon  Harper's  Ferry,  that  at  some  future  period  he  would 
organize  an  armed  party,  go  into  a  slave  State,  and  liber- 
ate a  large  number  of  slaves.  Soon  after,  surveying  pro- 
fessionally in  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  he  chose  the 
very  ground  for  the  purpose.    He  said,  "  God  had  estab- 


JOHN  BROWN.  227 

lished  the  Alleghany  Mountains  from  the  foundation  of 
the  world  that  they  might  one  day  be  a  refuge  for  fugitive 
slaves."  Visiting  Europe  afterward,  he  studied  military 
strategy,  and  made  designs  for  a  new  style  of  forest  forti- 
fications, simple  and  ingenious,  to  be  used  by  parties  of 
fugitive  slaves  when  brought  to  bay.  He  knew  the 
ground,  he  knew  his  plans,  he  knew  himself ;  but  where 
should  he  find  his  men  ?  Such  men  as  he  needed  are 
not  to  be  found  ordinarily ;  they  must  be  reared.  John 
Brown  did  not  merely  look  for  men,  therefore ;  he  reared 
them  in  his  sons.  Mrs.  Brown  had  been  always  the 
sharer  of  his  plans.  "  Her  husband  always  believed,"  she 
said,  "  that  he  was  to  be  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of 
Providence,  and  she  believed  it  too.  This  plan  had  occu- 
pied his  thoughts  and  prayers  for  twenty  years.  Many  a 
night  he  had  lain  awake  and  prayed  concerning  it."  He 
believed  in  human  brotherhood,  and  in  the  God  of  battles  ; 
he  admired,  he  said,  Nat  Turner,  the  negro  patriot,  equally 
with  George  Washington,  the  white  American  deliverer. 
He  secretly  despised  even  the  ablest  of  the  anti-slavery 
orators.  He  could  see  "  no  use  in  this  talking,"  he  said. 
"Talk  is  a  national  institution  ;  but  it  does  no  manner  of 
good  to  the  slaves."  The  year  before  his  attack  upon 
Harper's  Ferry,  he  uttered  these  sentences  in  conversa- 
tion :  "  Nat  Turner,  with  fifty  men,  held  Virginia  five 
weeks.  The  same  number,  well  organized  and  armed, 
can  shake  the  system  out  of  the  State."  "  Give  a  slave  a 
pike,  and  you  make  him  a  man.  Deprive  him  of  the 
means  of  resistance,  and  you  keep  him  down."  "  The 
land  belongs  to  the  bondsman.  He  has  enriched  it,  and 
been  robbed  of  its  fruits."  "  Any  resistance,  however 
bloody,  is  better  than  the  system  which  makes  every  sev- 
enth woman  a  concubine."  "  A  few  men  in  the  right,  and 
knowing  they  are,  can  overturn  a  king.  Twenty  men  in 
the  Alleghanies  could  break  slavery  to  pieces  in  two 
years."     "  When  the  bondsmen  stand  like  men,  the  nation 


228  CHARACTERISTICS. 

will  respect  them.  It  is  necessary  to  teach  them  this." 
About  the  same  time  he  said,  in  another  conversation, 
that  "  it  was  nothing  to  die  in  a  good  cause,  but  an  eter- 
nal disgrace  to  sit  still  in  the  presence  of  the  barbarities 
of  American  slavery."  "  Providence,"  said  he,  "  has 
made  me  an  actor,  and  slavery  an  outlaw."  "  Duty  is  the 
voice  of  God,  and  a  man  is  neither  worthy  of  a  good 
home  here,  or  a  heaven,  that  is  not  willing  to  be  in  peril 
for  a  good  cause."  He  scouted  the  idea  of  rest  while  he 
held  "a  commission  direct  from  God  Almighty  to  act 
against  slavery."  After  his  capture,  and  while  he  lay  in 
blood  upon  the  floor  of  the  guard-house,  he  was  asked  by 
a  bystander  upon  what  principle  he  justified  his  acts? 
"  Upon  the  Golden  Rule,"  he  answered.  "  I  pity  the 
poor  in  bondage  that  have  none  to  help  them.  That  is 
why  I  am  here  ;  it  is  not  to  gratify  any  personal  animos- 
ity, or  feeling  of  revenge,  or  vindictive  spirit.  It  is  my 
sympathy  with  the  oppressed  and  the  wronged,  that  are 
as  good  as  you,  and  as  precious  in  the  sight  of  God.  I 
want  you  to  understand,  gentlemen,  that  I  respect  the 
rights  of  the  poorest  and  weakest  of  the  colored  people, 
oppressed  by  the  slave  system,  just  as  much  as  I  do  those 
of  the  most  wealthy  and  powerful.  That  is  the  idea  that 
has  moved  me,  and  that  alone.  We  expected  no  reward 
except  the  satisfaction  of  endeavoring  to  do  for  those  in 
distress  —  the  greatly  oppressed  —  as  we  would  be  done 
by.  The  cry  of  distress,  of  the  oppressed,  is  my  reason, 
and  the  only  thing  that  prompted  me  to  come  here.  I 
wish  to  say,  furthermore,  that  you  had  better,  all  you 
people  of  the  South,  prepare  yourselves  for  a  settlement 
of  this  question.  It  must  come  up  for  settlement  sooner 
than  you  are  prepared  for  it,  and  the  sooner  you  com- 
mence that  preparation,  the  better  for  you.  You  may 
dispose  of  me  very  easily.  I  am  nearly  disposed  of  now  ; 
but  this  question  is  still  to  be  settled  —  this  negro  ques- 
tion, I  mean.     The  end  of  that  is  not  yet."     In  his  "  last 


JOHN  BROWN.  ,  229 

Speech,"  before  sentence  of  death  was  passed  upon  him, 
he  said,  "  This  court  acknowledges,  as  I  suppose,  the 
vaUdity  of  the  law  of  God.  I  see  a  book  kissed  here 
which  I  suppose  to  be  the  Bible,  or,  at  least,  the  New 
Testament.  That  teaches  me  that  all  things  *  whatsoever 
I  would  that  men  should  do  unto  me  I  should  do  even  so 
to  them.'  It  teaches  me  further  to  '  remember  them  that 
are  in  bonds,  as  bound  with  them.'  I  endeavored  to  act 
up  to  that  instruction.  I  say,  I  am  yet  too  young  to  un- 
derstand that  God  is  any  respecter  of  persons.  I  believe 
that  to  have  interfered  as  I  have  done,  as  I  have  always 
freely  admitted  I  have  done,  in  behalf  of  his  despised 
poor,  was  not  wrong,  but  right.  Now,  if  it  is  deemed 
necessary  that  I  should  forfeit  my  life  for  the  furtherance 
of  the  ends  of  justice,  and  mingle  my  blood  further  with 
the  blood  of  my  children,  and  with  the  blood  of  millions 
in  this  slave  country  whose  rights  are  disregarded  by 
wicked,  cruel,  and  unjust  enactments  —  I  submit :  so  let 
it  be  done."  In  a  postscript  to  a  letter  to  a  half-brother, 
written  in  prison,  he  said,  "  Say  to  my  poor  bo3^s  never 
to  grieve  for  one  moment  on  my  account ;  and  should  any 
of  you  live  to  see  the  time  when  you  will  not  blush  to  own 
your  relation  to  old  John  Brown,  it  will  not  be  more 
strange  than  many  things  that  have  happened."  In  a 
letter  to  his  old  schoolmaster,  he  said,  "  I  have  enjoyed 
much  of  life,  as  I  was  enabled  to  discover  the  secret  of 
this  somewhat  early.  It  has  been  in  making  the  pros- 
perity and  happiness  of  others  my  own ;  so  that  really  I 
have  had  a  great  deal  of  prosperity."  To  another  he 
wrote,  "  I  commend  my  poor  family  to  the  kind  remem- 
brance of  all  friends,  but  I  well  understand  that  they  are 
not  the  only  poor  in  our  world.  I  ought  to  begin  to  leave 
off  saying  our  world."  In  his  last  letter  to  his  family,  he 
said,  "  I  am  waiting  the  hour  of  my  public  murder  with 
great  composure  of  mind  and  cheerfulness,  feeling  the 
strong  assurance  that  in  no  other  possible  way  could  I  be 


230  CHARACTERISTICS. 

used  to  so  much  advantage  to  the  cause  of  God  and  of 
humanity,  and  that  nothing  that  I  or  all  my  family  have 
sacrificed  or  suffered  will  be  lost.  Do  not  feel  ashamed 
on  my  account,  nor  for  one  moment  despair  of  the  cause, 
or  grow  weary  of  well-doing.  I  bless  God  I  never  felt 
stronger  confidence  in  the  certain  and  near  approach  of 
a  bright  morning  and  glorious  day  than  I  have  felt,  and 
do  now  feel,  since  my  confinement  here."  In  a  previous 
letter  to  his  family,  he  said,  "  Never  forget  the  poor,  nor 
think  any  thing  you  bestow  on  them  to  be  lost  to  you, 
even  though  they  may  be  as  black  as  Ebed-melech,  the 
Ethiopian  eunuch,  who  cared  for  Jeremiah  in  the  pit  of 
the  dungeon,  or  as  black  as  the  one  to  whom  Philip 
preached  Christ.  *  Remember  them  that  are  in  bonds,  as 
bound  with  them.'  "  As  he  stepped  out  of  the  jail-door, 
on  his  way  to  the  gallows,  "  a  black  woman,  with  a  little 
child  in  her  arms,  stood  near  his  way.  The  twain  were  of 
the  despised  race  for  whose  emancipation  and  elevation 
to  the  dignity  of  the  children  of  God  he  was  about  to  lay 
down  his  life.  His  thoughts  at  that  moment  none  can 
know  except  as  his  acts  interpret  them.  He  stopped  for 
a  moment  in  his  course,  stooped  over,  and  with  the  ten- 
derness of  one  whose  love  is  as  broad  as  the  brotherhood 
of  man,  kissed  the  child  affectionately.  As  he  came  upon 
an  eminence  near  the  gallows,  he  cast  his  eye  over  the 
beautiful  landscape,  and  followed  the  windings  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  Mountains  in  the  distance.  He  looked  up 
earnestly  at  the  sun,  and  sky,  and  all  about,  and  then 
remarked,  '  This  is  a  beautiful  country.  I  have  not  cast 
my  eyes  over  it  before.'  "  "  You  are  more  cheerful  than  I 
am.  Captain  Brown,"  said  the  undertaker,  who  sat  with 
him  in  the  wagon.  "  Yes,"  answered  the  old  man,  "  I 
ought  to  be."  "  'Gentlemen,  good-by,'  he  said  to  two  ac- 
quaintances, as  he  passed  from  the  wagon  to  the  scaffold, 
which  he  was  first  to  mount.  As  he  quietly  awaited  the 
necessary   arrangements,  he   surveyed   the   scenery  un- 


JOHN   RANDOLPH   AND  JOHN   BROWN.         23 1 

moved,  looking  principally  in  the  direction  of  the  people, 
in  the  far  distance.  *  There  is  no  faltering  in  his  steps,' 
wrote  one  who  saw  him,  *  but  firmly  and  erect  he  stands 
amid  the  almost  breathless  lines  of  soldiery  that  surround 
him.  With  a  graceful  motion  of  his  pinioned  right  arm 
he  takes  the  slouched  hat  from  his  head  and  carelessly 
casts  it  upon  the  platform  by  his  side.  His  elbows  and 
ankles  are  pinioned,  the  white  cap  is  drawn  over  his  eyes, 
the  hangman's  rope  is  adjusted  around  his  neck.  '  Cap- 
tain Brown,'  said  the  sheriff,  '  you  are  not  standing  on  the 
drop.  Will  you  come  forward  .? '  *  I  can't  see  you,  gen- 
tlemen,' was  the  old  man's  answer,  unfalteringly  spoken ; 
'  you  must  lead  me.'  The  sheriff  led  his  prisoner  forward 
to  the  centre  of  the  drop.  '  Shall  I  give  you  a  handker- 
chief,' he  then  asked,  '  and  let  you  drop  it  as  a  signal?' 
'  No ;  I  am  ready  at  any  time ;  but  do  not  keep  me  need- 
lessly waiting.' " 

John  Randolph  and  John  Brown  !  Remarkable  men  ! 
and  peculiarly  interesting,  as  characters  and  types,  to  all 
Americans.  What  contrasts  !  The  first,  an  aristocrat  — 
born,  as  we  have  seen,  in  a  mansion-house,  not  unworthy 
of  the  baronial  days  in  which  it  was  built ;  the  inheritor 
of  an  honored  name  and  of  vast  estates  ;  proud  of  his 
cavalier  descent,  and  proud  of  his  princely  possessions ; 
surrounded,  from  his  birth,  with  an  atmosphere  of  refine- 
ment and  intelligence ;  with  every  accessory  and  auxil- 
iary, it  would  appear,  to  make  him  supremely  happy; 
with  every  body  to  do  for  him,  and  every  thing  to  do  with ; 
"  thin-skinned,  sensitive,  impulsive,  and  imaginative,"  but 
with  an  accomplished  and  tender  mother  to  soothe  him, 
and  a  quiet  closet  to  resort  to,  stored  with  the  wisdom  of 
all  ages ;  flattered,  caressed,  and  petted  ;  in  his  youth  at 
the  capital,  enjoying  daily  intercourse  with  statesmen  and 
men  of  learning ;  in  his  early  manhood  elected  to  Con- 
gress, and  kept  there,  nearly  the  remainder  of  his  life,  by 


232  CHARACTERISTICS. 

an  admiring  and  generous  constituency ;  a  student  of  the 
Constitution  with  the  makers  of  it;  a  traveler  abroad, 
with  every  advantage  of  society,  study,  and  observation  ; 
commanding,  as  a  man  and  as  a  statesman ;  distressed, 
after  all,  in  body  and  in  mind,  and  going  to  his  grave  re- 
morseful, and  despairing  of  his  country.  The  second, 
a  democrat,  the  product  of  poverty  and  hope ;  of  a  long 
line  of  indigence,  industry,  and  honesty ;  knowing  life  at 
its  hardest,  from  the  beginning  ;  dressing  in  skins,  like  a 
savage  ;  stealing  a  pin,  and  getting  a  whipping  for  it ; 
loving  the  wilderness,  for  its  immensity  and  loneliness, 
and  driving  wild  cattle  through  it  for  a  hundred  miles  j 
growing  up  illiterate,  but  intelligent ;  a  tanner,  and  learn- 
ing how  to  make  a  dinner  for  forty  men  out  of  the  hide 
of  an  ox;  married  at  twenty,  and  the  father  of  twenty 
children  —  all  Browns — every  inch;  on  his  feet,  strug- 
gling abreast  with  poor  men,  remembering  those  that  are 
in  bonds,  as  bound  with  them ;  inspired,  twenty  years  be- 
fore his  death,  with  the  idea  of  becoming  a  liberator  of 
slaves ;  from  that  moment  bending  every  effort  of  his  life 
to  that  end ;  visiting  Europe  on  business,  and  studying 
military  strategy ;  encouraging  emigration,  and  protect- 
ing the  im.migrants ;  fighting  slavery,  and  rescuing  slaves  ; 
on  the  border,  with  a  reward  offered  for  his  head  ;  in 
Boston,  with  an  officer  after  him  with  a  warrant ;  shunned 
and  forsworn  by  multitudes  of  sympathizers ;  by  slavery 
made  an  outlaw,  and  by  Providence  an  actor ;  avoided, 
suspected,  and  hunted,  but  vindictive  never ;  scouting  the 
idea  of  rest,  holding,  as  he  believed,  a  commission  direct 
from  Almighty  God  ;  cheerful  and  composed  in  the  teeth 
of  need  and  of  vengeance ;  never  querulous  or  complain- 
ing, even  when  in  prison  and  in  chains  ;  but  serenely 
going  to  his  death,  with  still  a  conscience  toward  God. 
Both  were  honest  men,  to  the  core.  Both  were  brave,  to 
a  fault.  Each  was  the  peer  of  any,  and  a  natural  ruler 
over  many.     Each  was  true  to  what  he  believed  to  be  his 


JOHN  RANDOLPH  AND  JOHN  BROWN.         233 

mission.  One  was  a  born  hater  of  caste,  and  a  staunch 
behever  in  the  equality  of  all  men,  without  distinction  j 
the  other  a  born  believer  in  radical  differences  of  blood 
and  race,  —  declaring,  as  we  have  seen,  that  "  no  two 
distinct  people  could  occupy  the  same  territory,  under 
one  government,  but  in  the  relation  of  master  and  vassal." 
One  gave  the  efforts  of  his  life  to  his  idea ;  the  other 
gave  all  his  efforts,  and  his  life  too,  to  his.  One  went 
discouraged  to  his  grave,  with  remorse  lingering  on  his 
tongue  and  preying  at  his  heart ;  the  other  serenely  riding 
to  the  scaffold,  smiling  with  the  sun  and  the  morning,  and 
confidently  hoping  for  a  better  day. 


IX. 

THE   AUDACITY   OF   FOOTE. 

Was  ever  wit  more  audacious  than  Foote  ?  Perspica- 
cious and  bold  —  seeing  every  thing  and  stopping  at 
nothing,  —  no  wonder  the  great  town  shook  with  terror 
and  laughter  at  his  daring  personalities  and  mimicries. 
As  quick  to  say  as  to  see,  the  strokes  of  his  humor  were 
as  surprising  as  they  were  instantaneous,  and  his  victims 
fell  without  staggering.  There  was  no  threatening,  to 
forewarn  or  alarm  ;  no  noisy  brewing  of  elements  ;  no 
waste  by  elaboration  ;  and  when  the  mischief  was  done, 
there  was  no  smell  of  spent  forces.  On  the  stage,  at  the 
club,  at  the  coffee-house,  he  took  off  every  body  of  prom- 
inence or  eminence.  Nobody  seemed  to  escape  him.  At 
the  Haymarket,  for  forty  nights  in  succession,  he  imitated 
Whitefield.  "  There  is  hardly  a  public  man  in  England," 
said  Davies,  "who  has  not  entered  Mr.  Foote's  theatre 
with  an  aching  heart,  under  the  apprehension  of  seeing 
himself  laughed  at."  His  rule  was,  that  you  ought  not 
to  run  the  chance  of  losing  your  friend  for  your  joke 
unless  your  joke  happens  to  be  better  than  your  friend. 
Imagine  how  the  sensitive  Goldsmith  must  have  shrunk 
from  his  aggressive  wit,  and  insolent,  impudent,  swagger- 
ing animal  spirits.  Johnson  alone,  of  all  that  were  about 
him,  seemed  able  to  keep  the  brilliant,  audacious  outlaw 
within  bounds.  The  great  moralist  was  but  too  conscious 
of  his  peculiarities  and  deformities,  and  if  Foote  had 
dared  to  mimic  them  publicly  he  would  have  broken  his 
bones. 

"Foote,"  said  Johnson,  "is  the  most  incompressible 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  235 

fellow  that  I  ever  saw :  when  you  have  driven  him  into  a 
corner,  and  think  you  are  sure  of  him,  he  runs  through 
between  your  legs,  or  jumps  over  your  head,  and  makes 
his  escape.  Then  he  has  a  great  range  for  wit ;  he  never 
lets  truth  stand  between  him  and  a  jest,  and  he  is  some- 
times mighty  coarse.  .  .  .  The  first  time  I  was  in  com- 
pany with  Foote,  was  at  Fitzherbert's.  Having  no  good 
opinion  of  the  fellow,  I  was  resolved  not  to  be  pleased ; 
and  it  is  very  difficult  to  please  a  man  against  his  will. 
I  went  jon  eating  my  dinner  pretty  sullenly,  affecting  not 
to  mind  him.  But  the  dog  was  so  very  comical  that  I 
was  obliged  to  lay  down  my  knife  and  fork,  throw  myself 
back  upon  my  chair,  and  fairly  laugh  it  out.  No,  sir,  he 
was  irresistible.  He  upon  one'  occasion  experienced,  in 
an  extraordinary  degree,  the  efficacy  of  his  powers  of  en- 
tertaining. Amongst  the  many  and  various  modes  which 
he  tried  of  getting  money,  he  became  a  partner  with  a 
small-beer  brewer,  and  he  was  to  have  a  share  of  the 
profits  for  procuring  customers  amongst  his  numerous  ac- 
quaintance. Fitzherbert  was  one  who  took  his  small- 
beer  j  but  it  was  so  bad  that  the  servants  resolved  not  to 
drink  it.  They  were  at  some  loss  how  to  notify  their 
resolution,  being  afraid  of  offending  their  master,  who 
they  knew  liked  Foote  much  as  a  companion.  At  last 
they  fixed  upon  a  little  black  boy,  who  was  rather  a  favor- 
ite, to  be  their  deputy,  and  deliver  their  remonstrance  j 
and  having  invested  him  with  the  whole  authority  of  the 
kitchen,  he  was  to  inform  Mr.  Fitzherbert,  In  all  their 
names,  upon  a  certain  day,  that  they  would  drink  Foote's 
small-beer  no  longer.  On  that  day,  Foote  happened  to 
dine  at  Fitzherbert's,  and  this  boy  served  ^at  table ;  he 
was  so  delighted  with  Foote's  stories,  and  merriment,  and 
grimace,  that  when  he  went  down  stairs,  he  told  them, 
*  This  is  the  finest  man  I  have  ever  seen.  I  will  not  de- 
liver your  message.     I  will  drink  his  small-beer.' " 

Foote  went  to  Ireland,  and  took  off  a  celebrated  Dub- 


236  CHARACTERISTICS. 

lin  printer.  The  printer  stood  the  jest  for  some  time,  but 
found  at  last  that  Foote's  imitations  became  so  popular, 
and  drew  such  attention  to  himself,  that  he  could  not 
walk  the  streets  without  being  pointed  at.  He  bethought 
himself  of  a  remedy.  Collecting  a  number  of  boys,  he 
gave  them  a  hearty  meal,  and  a  shilling  each  for  a  place 
in  the  gallery,  and  promised  them  another  meal  on  the 
morrow  if  they  would  hiss  off  the  scoundrel  who  turned 
him  into  ridicule.  The  injured  man  learned  from  his 
friends  that  Foote  was  received  that  night  better  than 
ever.  Nevertheless,  in  the  morning,  the  ragged  troop  of 
boys  appeared  to  demand  their  recompense,  and  when 
the  printer  reproached  them  for  their  treachery,  their 
spokesman  said  :  "  Plase  yer  honor,  we  did  all  we  could, 
for  the  actor  man  had  heard  of  us,  and  did  not  come  at 
all  at  all.  And  so  we  had  nobody  to  hiss.  But  when  we 
saw  yer  honor's  own  dear  self  come  on,  we  did  clap,  in- 
deed we  did,  and  showed  you  all  the  respect  and  honor 
in  our  power.  And  so  yer  honor  won't  forget  us  because 
yer  honor's  enemy  was  afraid  to  come,  and  left  yer  honor 
to  yer  own  dear  self."  For  this  story  we  are  indebted  to 
Crabb  Robinson,  to  whom  Incledon,  the  singer,  related 
it  one  day  when  they  were  traveling  in  a  stage-coach  to- 
gether —  the  garrulous  fellow  all  the  time  rattling  away 
about  Garrick  and  ^Mrs.  Siddons  and  every  body  —  him- 
self especially. 

On  one  occasion,  some  one  said  to  Johnson,  "  If  Bet- 
terton  and  Foote  were  to  walk  into  this  room,  you  would 
respect  Betterton  much  more  than  Foote."  Johnson  re- 
plied, "If  Betterton  were  to  walk  into  this  room  with 
Foote,  Foot^  would  soon  drive  him  out  of  it.  Foote,  sir, 
has  powers  superior  to  them  all." 

Successful  mimicry  is  more  generally  pleasing  than  any 
other  kind  of  amusement :  it  amuses  every  ore  but  the 
victim  of  it.  Mathews,  the  elder,  when  a  boy,  success- 
fully imitated  the  cry  of  a  perambulating  fishmonger,  and 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  2^7 

was  severely  punished  for  it.  "  Next  time,"  said  the 
huge  monster,  as  he  felled  the  youthful  comedian  to  the 
earth,  "next  time  as  you  twists  your  little  wry  mouth 
about,  and  cuts  your  mugs  at  a  respectable  tradesman, 
I  '11  skin  you  like  an  e  —  e  — " ;  and  seizing  his  whole 
shop  up  in  his  Brobdingnagian  arms,  he  finished  the  mon- 
osyllable not  much  less  than  a  square  away.  "  For 
weeks  — nay  months  "  —  says  Mathews  —  "  did  I  suffer 
from  the  effects  of  this  punishment."  At  a  later  period 
—  soon  after  he  made  his  appearance  on  the  stage  —  his 
imitations  of  a  fellow-actor —  Lee  Sugg — were  punished 
even  more  severely.  Sugg,  it  is  stated,  trusting  not  too 
implicitly  to  his  own  personal  strength,  which  was  very 
great,  called  in  to  his  aid  an  auxiliary  in  the  shape  of  an 
iron  bar ;  and  thus  doubly  armed,  he  lay  in  wait  one 
night  in  a  dark  corner  for  the  young  offender's  approach, 
who,  in  passing,  received  a  blow  across  his  back,  which, 
had  it  alighted  on  his  head,  would  have  cured  him  of  all 
further  attempts  to  take  others  off.  He  felt  the  effects 
of  the  ruffianly  attack  for  a  long  while.  Still  later  —  at 
the  very  height  of  his  reputation  —  he  writes  to  his  wife 
from  Edinburgh  :  "  I  was  placed  in  a  most  awkward  situ- 
ation in  the  Courts  of  Law  on  Saturday.  Erskine,  while 
pleading,  glanced  his  eye  toward  me,  stopped,  laughed, 
and  shook  his  fist  at  me.  This  drew  the  eyes  of  about 
two  hundred  people  upon  me.  I  blushed  up  to  the  eyes. 
When  he  sat  down,  I  observed  he  wrote  a  note  with  a 
pencil  to  the  judge.  Lord  Gillies.  He  craned  his  neck 
directly  to  look  at  me,  and  when  he  came  out  of  court, 
Erskine  said,  *  What  the  devil  brings  you  here,  mon,  — 
you  spoilt  my  speech,  —  I  canna  afford  to  be  taken  off. 
Did  you  observe  Lord  Gillies  look  at  you  ?  I  wrote  him 
a  caird,  and  told  him  to  be  on  his  guard,  as  I  was,  or  we 
should  both  be  upon  the  stage  before  supper  to-night." 

Very  early  in  life  Foote's  peculiar  genius  began  to  show 
itself.    There  is,  it  is  related,  a  tradition  remaining  in  the 


238  CHARACTERISTICS. 

school  at  Oxford  that  the  boys  often  suffered  on  a  Monday 
for  preferring  Sam's  laughter  to  their  lessons,  for,  when- 
ever he  had  dined  on  a  Sunday  with  any  of  his  relatives, 
his  jokes  and  imitations  next  day  at  the  expense  of  the 
family  entertaining  him  had  all  the  fascination  of  a  stage- 
play.  When  brought  before  the  provost,  who  is  repre- 
sented as  a  pedant  of  the  most  uncompromising  school, 
Foote  would  present  himself  to  receive  his  reprimand 
with  great  apparent  gravity  and  submission,  but  with  a 
large  dictionary  under  his  arm  ;  when,  on  the  doctor  be- 
ginning in  his  usual  pompous  manner  wdth  a  surprisingly 
long  word,  he  would  immediately  interrupt  him,  and, 
after  begging  pardon  with  great  formality,  would  produce 
his  dictionary,  and  pretending  to  find  the  meaning  of  the 
word,  would  say,  "  Very  well,  sir  ;  now  please  to  go  on." 
His  first  essay  as  an  author.  Murphy  tells  us,  was  "a 
pamphlet,  giving  an  account  of  one  of  his  uncles  who 
was  executed  for  murdering  his  other  uncle,"  for  which 
he  received  ten  pounds  of  an  Old  Bailey  bookseller. 
Such  was  the  extremity  of  his  need  at  the  time,  that  on 
the  day  he  sold  his  manuscript,  he  was,  we  are  told  by 
Cooke,  actually  obliged  to  wear  his  boots  without  stock- 
ings, and  on  his  receiving  his  ten  pounds  he  stopped  at  a 
hosier's  in  Fleet  Street  to  remedy  the  defect ;  but  hardly 
had  he  issued  from  the  shop  when  two  old  Oxford  asso- 
ciates, arrived  in  London  on  a  frolic,  recognized  him  and 
bore  him  off  to  dinner  at  the  Bedford ;  where,  as  the  glass 
began  to  circulate,  the  state  of  his  wardrobe  came  within 
view,  and  he  was  asked  what  the  deuce  had  become  of 
his  stockings?  "Why,"  said  Foote,  unembarrassed,  "I 
never  wear  any  at  this  time  of  the  year,  till  I  am  going 
to  dress  for  the  evening ;  and  you  see,"  pulling  his  pur- 
chase out  of  his  pocket,  and  silencing  the  laugh  and  the 
suspicion  of  his  friends,  "  I  am  always  provided  with  a 
pair  for  the  occasion." 

Forster,  in  his  delightful   monograph  of  the  English 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.        239 

Aristophanes,  as  Foote  was  sometimes  called,  gives  some 
anecdotes  to  show  the  remarkable  readiness  of  his  humor. 
He  was  talking  away  one  evening,  at  the  dinner-table  of 
a  man  of  rank,  when,  at  the  point  of  one  of  his  best 
stories,  one  of  the  party  interrupted  him  suddenly,  with 
an  air  of  most  considerate  apology,  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Foote,  but  your  handkerchief  is  half  out  of  your 
pocket."  "Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Foote,  replacing 
it;  "you  know  the  company  better  than  I  do,"  and  fin- 
ished his  joke.  At  one  of  Macklin's  absurd  Lectures  on 
the  Ancients,  the  lecturer  was  solemnly  composing  him- 
self to  begin,  when  a  buzz  of  laughter  from  where  Foote 
stood  ran  through  the  room,  and  Macklin,  thinking  to 
throw  the  laugher  off  his  guard,  and  effectually  for  that 
night  disarm  his  ridicule,  turned  to  him  with  this  ques- 
tion, in  his  most  severe  and  pompous  manner :  "  Well, 
sir,  you  seem  to  be  very  merry  there  ;  but  do  you  know 
what  I  am  going  to  say,  now  ? "  "  No,  sir,"  at  once  re- 
plied Foote;  "pray,  do  you.?"  The  then  Duke  of  Cum- 
berland came  one  night  into  the  green-room  of  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre.  "  Well,  Foote,"  said  he,  "  here  I  am, 
ready,  as  usual,  to  swallow  all  your  good  things." 
"Really,"  replied  Foote,  "your  Royal  Highness  must 
have  an  excellent  digestion,  for  you  never  bring  any  up 
again."  "  Why  are  you  forever  humming  that  air  ? "  he 
asked  a  man  without  a  sense  of  tune  in  him.  "  Because 
it  haunts  me."  "  No  wonder,"  said  Foote ;  "  you  are 
forever  murdering  it."  One  of  Mrs.  Montagu's  blue- 
stocking ladies  fastened  upon  him  at  one  of  the  routs  in 
Portman  Square  with  her  views  of  Locke  on  the  Under- 
standing, which  she  protested  she  admired  above  all 
things  ;  only  there  was  one  particular  word  very  often 
repeated  which  she  could  not  distinctly  make  out,  and 
that  was  "  the  word  (pronouncing  it  very  long)  ide-a ; 
but  I  suppose  it  comes  from  a  Greek  derivation."  "  You 
are  perfectly  right,  madam,"  said  Foote;  "it  comes  from 


240  CHARACTERISTICS. 

the  word  ideaowski."  "And  pray,  sir,  what  does  that 
mean  ?  "  "  The  feminine  of  idiot,  madam."  Much  bored 
by  a  pompous  physician  of  Bath,  who  confided  to  him  as 
a  great  secret  that  he  had  a  mind  to  publish  his  own 
poems,  but  had  so  many  irons  in  the  fire  he  really  did 
not  know  what  to  do:  "Take  my  advice,  doctor,"  says 
Foote,  "  and  put  your  poems  where  your  irons  are."  Sel- 
wyn  mentioned  that  Foote,  having  received  much  atten- 
tion from  the  Eton  boys,  in  showing  him  about  the  college, 
collected  them  round  him  in  the  quadrangle,  and  said, 
"  Now,  young  gentlemen,  what  can  I  do  for  you  to  show 
you  how  much  I  am  obliged  to  you  ? "  "  Tell  us,  Mr. 
Foote,"  says  the  leader,  "  the  best  thing  you  ever  said." 
"  Why,"  says  Foote,  "seeing  once  a  little  blackguard  imp 
of  a  chimney-sweeper  mounted  on  a  noble  steed,  prancing 
and  curveting  in  all  the  pride  and  magnificence  of  na- 
ture, —  *  There,'  cried  I,  '  goes  Warburton  on  Shakes- 
peare.' "  "  Pray,  sir,"  asked  a  lady  of  fashion,  referring 
to  his  play  of  the  Puppet-show,  "  are  your  puppets  to  be 
as  large  as  life  ?  "  "  Oh  dear,  madam,  no,"  replied  Foote ; 
"  not  much  above  the  size  of  Garrick."  A  country  farmer 
who  had  just  buried  a  rich  relation,  an  attorney,  com- 
plained to  him  of  the  very  great  expense  of  a  country 
funeral,  in  respect  to  carriages,  scarfs,  hat-bands,  etc. 
"  Why,  do  you  bury  your  attorneys  here  ? "  asked  Foote. 
"  Yes,  to  be  sure  we  do  :  how  else  ? "  "  Oh  !  we  never 
do  that  in  London."  **  No  !  "  said  the  other,  much  sur- 
prised ;  "  how  do  you  manage  ?  "  "  Why,  when  the  patient 
happens  to  die,  we  lay  him  out  in  a  room  over  night  by 
himself,  lock  the  door,  throw  open  the  sash,  and  in  the 
morning  he  is  entirely  off."  "  Indeed  !  "  said  the  other, 
in  amazement ;  "  what  becomes  of  him  ?  "  "  Why,  that 
we  cannot  exactly  tell ;  all  we  know  is,  there  's  a  strong 
smell  of  brimstone  in  the  room  the  next  morning." 

He  was  notorious  as  a  spendthrift,  having  spent  three 
handsome  fortunes  before  he  became  noted  as  a  player. 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  24I 

The  success  of  one  of  his  comedies  having  recruited  his 
finances,  he  made  alterations  both  in  his  town  and 
country  house,  enlarged  his  hospitalities,  and  laid  out 
twelve  hundred  pounds  in  a  magnificent  service  of  plate. 
When  he  was  reminded  by  some  friends  of  these  extrava- 
gances, and  particularly  the  last,  he  turned  it  off  by  say- 
ing, he  acted  from  a  principle  of  economy;  for  as  he 
knew  he  could  never  keep  his  gold,  he  very  prudently 
laid  out  his  money  in  silver,  which  would  not  only  last 
longer,  but  in  the  end  sell  for  nearly  as  much  as  it  orig- 
inally cost. 

One  of  his  noble  friends,  a  paymaster  of  the  forces, 
having  observed  how  grossly  he  was  plundered  at  play, 
made  so  bold  as  to  say  to  him,  that  from  his  careless 
manner  of  playing  and  betting,  and  his  habit  of  telling 
stories  when  he  should  be  minding  his  game,  he  must  in 
the  long  run  be  ruined,  let  him  play  with  whom  he  would. 
Foote  resented  this  advice.  He  told  his  friend  with  sharp- 
ness, that  although  he  was  no  politician  by  profession, 
he  could  see  as  soon  as  any  into  any  sinister  designs  laid 
against  him  ;  that  he  was  too  old  to  be  schooled ;  and 
that  as  to  any  distinction  of  rank  between  them  to  war- 
rant this  liberty,  he  saw  none  ;  they  were  both  the  king's 
servants,  with  this  difference  in  his  favor, —  that  he  could 
always  draw  upon  his  talents  for  independence,  when  per- 
haps a  courtier  could  not  find  the  king's  treasury  always 
open  to  him  for  support. 

In  his  stage  mimicries  he  was  merciless  on  some  of  his 
fellow-actors.  Even  their  infirmities  were  made  the  sub- 
ject of  his  ridicule.  Delane  had  only  one  eye.  He 
brought  him  on  as  a  beggar-man  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard  : 
"  Would  you  bestow  your  pity  on  a  poor  blind  man  ? " 
Ryan  had  met  with  an  injury  to  the  mouth,  which  gave 
his  utterance  a  peculiar  discordance.  This  infirmity  was 
also  fair  game  •  and  he  was  held  up  as  a  razor-grinder, — 
"Razors  to  grind,  scissors  to  grind,  pen-knives  to  grind  1" 
16 


242  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Foote's  "  enmity,"  as  Fitzgerald  calls  the  feeling  toward 
Garrick,  had,  in  the  judgment  of  the  fore-mentioned  par- 
tial biographer,  the  happy  effect  of  showing  the  man  he 
hated  in  a  superior  light.  Foote,  very  short  of  money, 
had  accepted  a  Scotch  engagement.  "  But  where  's  the 
means  ? "  he  said  to  Wilkinson.  "  D — n  it,  I  must  so- 
licit that  hound,  Garrick."  He  did  so ;  and  the  "  hound" 
Garrick  at  once  lent  him  one  hundred  pounds.  He  was 
aggrieved  because  Garrick  did  not  give  it  him  "  off-hand," 
but  said  instead  that  he  must  "  see  Pritchard,  the  treas- 
urer, first,"  on  whom  Foote  might  call  in  the  evening,  and 
leave  his  note.  These  were  not  very  hard  conditions ;  but 
it  was  a  little  homage  which  Garrick  was  not  disinclined 
to  exact.  That  very  evening  the  borrower  laid  out  some 
of  his  cash  on  a  feast,  at  which  he  told  the  most  comic 
stories  of  the  lender.  He  never  was  so  fertile  as  on  this 
theme.  He  ridiculed  his  poetry,  and  added  that  "  David's 
verses  were  so  bad,  that  if  he  (Foote)  died  first,  all  he 
dreaded  was  that  Garrick  would  undertake  his  epitaph." 

Tate  Wilkinson,  who  knew  both  Garrick  and  Foote  very 
well,  viewed  them  and  their  relations  with  each  other  dif- 
ferently. His  rambling  gossip  about  them  and  himself  is 
entertaining.  In  his  Memoirs  he  gives  an  interesting 
account  of  his  first  introduction  to  Garrick.  He  went 
armed  with  letters  from  Lord  Mansfield  and  the  sister  of 
Lord  Foley.  "I  marched,"  he  says,  "up  and  down 
Southampton  Street  three  or  four  times  before  I  dared 
rap  at  this  great  man's  door,  as  fearing  instant  dismission 
might  follow ;  or  what  appeared  to  me  almost  as  dread- 
ful, if  graciously  admitted,  how  I  should  be  able  to- walk, 
move,  or  speak  before  him.  However,  the  rap  was  at  last 
given,  and  the  deed  was  done  past  all  retreating.  *  Is 
Mr.  Garrick  at  home  ? '  '  Yes.'  Then  delivering  the  let- 
ters, and  after  waiting  in  a  parlor  for  about  ten  minutes, 
I  was  ordered  to  approach.  Mr.  Garrick  glanced  his 
scrutinizing  eye  first  at  me,  then  at  the  letters,  and  so  al- 


,.i^. 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  243 

temately ;  at  last  —  *  Well,  sir  —  Hey !  —What,  now  you 
are  a  stage  candidate  ?  Well,  sir,  let  me  have  a  taste  of 
your  quality.'  I  distilled  almost  to  jelly  with  my  fear,  at- 
tempted a  speech  from  Richard,  and  another  from  Essex; 
which  he  encouraged  by  observing  I  was  so  much  fright- 
ened that  he  could  not  form  any  judgment  of  my  abilities  ; 
but  assured  me  it  was  not  a  bad  omen,  as  fear  was  by  no 
means  a  sign  of  want  of  merit,  but  often  the  contrary. 
We  then  chatted  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  felt  myself 
more  easy,  and  requested  leave  to  repeat  a  few  speeches 
in  imitation  of  the  then  principal  stage  representatives. 
*  Nay  —  now,'  says  Garrick ;  *  sir,  you  must  take  care  of 
this,  for  I  used  to  call  myself  the  first  at  this  business.'  I 
luckily  began  with  an  imitation  of  Foote.  It  is  difficult 
here  to  determine  whether  Garrick  hated  or  feared  Foote 
the  most ;  sometimes  one,  sometimes  the  other  was  pre- 
dominant j  but  from  the  attention  of  a  few  minutes,  his 
looks  brightened  —  the  glow  of  his  countenance  trans- 
fused to  mine,  and  he  eagerly  desired  a  repetition  of  the 
same  speech.  I  was  animated  —  forgot  Garrick  was  pres- 
ent, and  spoke  at  perfect  ease.  *  Hey,  now  !  Now  —  what 
—  all ' —  says  Garrick  ;  '  how  — really  this  —  this  —  is  — 
(with  his  usual  hesitation  and  repetition  of  words)  why  — 
well  —  well  —  do  call  on  me  again  on  Monday  at  eleven, 
and  you  may  depend  upon  every  assistance  in  my  power. 
I  will  see  my  brother  manager,  Mr.  Lacey,  to-day,  and  let 
you  know  the  result.' " 

"  I  would  wish,"  says  Wilkinson,  "  to  avoid  meanness, 
abuse,  or  falsehood,  and  give  an  exact  and  candid  trait 
of  Mr.  Garrick  and  Mr.  Foote,  with  their  shades ;  but  by 
no  means  to  obscure  their  lights  and  good  qualities,  and 
hope  I  shall  prove  my  words  on  the  examination  of  the 
sum  total,  and  that  my  accounts  are  given  in  like  a  just 
steward,  and  with  these  gentlemen  and  myself  the  reck- 
oning shall  be  fairly  balanced. 

"  If  any  one  person  possessed  the  talent  of  pleasing 


244  CHARACTERISTICS. 

more  than  another,"  continues  the  garrulous  Tate,  "  Mr. 
Foote  was  certainly  the  man.  I  can  aver  in  all  my  obser- 
vations that  I  never  met  with  his  equal.  Mr.  Garrick, 
whom  I  have  dined  and  supped  with,  was  far  inferior  to 
him  in  wit  or  repartee,  as  indeed  were  persons  of  rank 
and  degree ;  for  Nature  bestows  not  all  her  graces  on  the 
great  or  opulent.  Mr.  Foote  was  not  confined  to  any 
particular  topic ;  he  was  equal  to  all ;  religion,  law,  poli- 
tics, manners  of  this  or  any  age,  and  the  stage  of  course. 
Indeed  a  polished  stranger  would  find  it  rare  to  meet 
with  so  many  agreeable  qualities  for  the  conviviality  of 
any  company  so  combined  as  in  the  society  of  Mr.  Foote. 
This  is  not  the  tribute  of  flattery  to  his  manner,  but  a 
piece  of  justice  my  own  impartiality  demands;  for  it 
would  be  despicable  indeed  to  point  out  his  foibles,  and 
not  be  ready  to  attest  his  good  qualities.  As  a  wit  he  is 
too  well  remembered,  and  far  beyond  my  abilities  to  de- 
scribe. As  a  blemish  to  his  entertaining  and  improving 
qualities  I  must,  as  a  relater  of  truth  remark,  that  all  these 
shining  talents  did  not  dazzle  or  answer  the  eager  expec- 
tation, unless  he  himself  was  the  sole  object  of  every 
directed  eye ;  for  if  a  man  of  genius  (I  will  suppose  a 
Murphy  or  a  Henderson)  had  slipt  in  a  good  story,  or 
had  given  any  entertaining  information,  and  thereby 
gained  the  approbation  and  merit  of  the  flowing  souls, 
Foote  not  only  immediately  felt  lessened,  but  could  not 
easily  recover  his  chagrin  and  jealousy ;  and  the  instant 
the  guest  had  taken  his  leave  and  departed,  he  could  not 
help  expressing  himself  with  great  contempt,  and  asking 
the  person  or  persons  remaining  if  they  had  ever  heard 
such  nonsense  as  that  man  had  been  uttering.  And 
added  expressions  of  wonder  how  the  persons  at  table 
could  be  entertained  with  such  absurdity.  But,  indeed, 
to  give  the  just  picture,  I  must  add,  as  a  true  historian  — 
had  the  company  left  him  in  the  best  humor,  these  very 
spirits  were  only  reserved  for  the  exposure  of  each  per- 


THE  AUDACITY   OF  FOOTE.  245 

son's  failure  or  particular  manner,  and  which  most  people, 
more  or  less,  have,  as  a  certain  appendage,  tagged  to 
human  nature ;  nor  did  that  happen  in  a  less  but  even  in 
a  stronger  degree  to  himself;  for  his  own  peculiarities 
were  more  extravagant  than  any  person's  whose  gait,  or 
gesture,  or  history  he  might  choose  to  record "  or  divert 
himself  with ;  and  if  not  given  immediate  credit  for  what 
he  asserted  against  the  absentee,  he  would  vigorously  fly 
to  his  happy  reserve  of  never-failing  fiction,  which  was 
veiled  under  such  an  appearance  of  truth,  aided  by  wit, 
humor,  and  great  vivacity,  that  he  generally  made  con- 
verts, who,  from  irresistible  impulse,  obeyed  his  laughing 
mandates.  It  was  policy  to  defer,  as  long  as  possible, 
quitting  the  room  where  he  was  monarch,  as  it  was  cer- 
tain, the  instant  of  any  one's  exit,  without  loss  of  time,  he 
would  be  served  up,  raw  or  roasted,  to  the  next  comer, 
and  that  without  mercy,  although  he  had  at  the  hour  of 
his  adieu  conferred  on  Mr.  Foote  an  obligation  of  the  ut- 
most necessary  service.  .  .  . 

"  Mr.  Foote  possessed,  with  all  his  foibles,  mingled  ex- 
cellences, generosity  and  humanity  ;  but  vast  ostentation 
was  annexed  to  them.  His  table  was  open  —  he  loved 
company  at  that  table,  and  if  they  pronounced  his  wine 
had  a  superior  flavor,  they  could  not  drink  too  much,  nor 
could  he  himself  be  gratified  till  he  had  produced  his 
claret  of  the  best  vintage. 

"  Now  Garrick  was  always  in  a  fidget,  eager  for  atten- 
tion and  adulation,  and  when  he  thought  himself  free  and 
adored,  would  prattle  such  stuff  as  would  disgrace  a  child 
of  eight  years  old  in  conversation  with  its  admiring  and 
doting  grandmamma.  His  hesitation  and  never  giving 
a  direct  answer,  arose  from  two  causes  —  affectation,  and 
a  fear  of  being  led  into  promises  which  he  never  meant  to 
perform.  ...  As  to  money,  he  seldom,  when  walking 
the  streets,  had  any,  therefore  could  only  lament  his 
inability  to  give  to  a  distressed  supplicant ;  but  if  greatly 


246  CHARACTERISTICS. 

touched  — '  Why,  Holland,'  or  any  other  person  that  was 
with  him,  '  cannot  you  now  advance  half  a  crown  ? '  whicii 
if  Holland  did,  was  a  very  good  joke,  and  for  fear  of 
spoiling  the  jest,  he  never  paid  Holland  again." 

One  day  in  Dublin,  as  Wilkinson  was  pursuing  his 
walk,  a  strong  voice  issued  from  a  dining-room  window, 
with  great  vehemence  calling  out,  "  Wilkinson !  Wilkin- 
son !  Wilkinson  ! "  "I  looked  round,"  said  Wilkinson, 
"  and  soon  spied  my  Master  Foote,  as  he  was  termed.  He 
insisted  on  my  staying  to  dinner,  which  invitation  I  could 
not  refuse ;  after  dinner,  and  while  the  glass  was  circulat- 
ing, he  intimated  a  wish  I  would  make  my  first  appear- 
ance at  Drury  Lane  as  his  pupil,  in  a  farce  he  had  newly 
furbished  up,  and  titled  the  Diversions  of  the  Morning ; 
and  added,  'You  must,  Wilkinson,  plainly  see  and  be 
convinced  that  dirty  hound  Garrick  does  not  mean  to  do 
you  any  service  or  wish  you  success ;  but  on  the  contrary 
he  is  a  secret  enemy,  and  if  he  can  prevent  your  doing 
well  be  assured  he  will.  I  know  his  heart  so  well,  that  if 
you  give  me  permission  to  ask  for  your  first  attempt  on  his 
stage,  and  to  be  in  my  piece,  the  hound  will  refuse  the 
moment  I  mention  it ;  and  though  his  little  soul  would  re- 
joice to  act  Richard  III.  in  the  dogdays,  before  the  hot- 
test kitchen  fire  for  a  sop  in  the  pan,  yet  I  know  his 
mean  soul  so  perfectly,  that  if,  on  his  refusal,  I  with  a 
grave  face  tell  him,  I  have  his  figure  exactly  made  and 
dressed  as  a  puppet  in  my  closet,  ready  for  public  admi- 
ration, the  fellow  will  not  only  consent  to  your  acting,  but 
what  is  more  extraordinary,  his  abject  fears  will  lend  me 
money,  if  I  should  say  I  want  it.' " 

Foote  having  been  publicly  ridiculed,  time  and  again, 
by  Wilkinson,  broke  friendship  with  him,  and  they  re- 
mained apart  for  five  years,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
Foote  made  generous  overtures,  and  they  became  friends 
again.  It  hurt  Foote  to  be  taken  off  as  much  as  any  of 
his  fellows.     Wilkinson,  in  the  farce  of  High  Life  Below 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.        247 

Stairs,  had  been  particularly  severe  upon  him.  "  Before 
my  benefit  happened,"  says  Wilkinson,  "  Mr.  Foote  (who 
of  all  men  in  the  world  ought  not  to  have  been  offended) 
found  himself  much  hurt  and  wounded,  and  so  little  mas- 
ter of  himself,  that,  notwithstanding  the  unbounded  liber- 
ties he  had  taken,  not  only  with  the  players,  but  others, 
to  the  disturbance  of  the  peace  of  private  families,  he 
actually  visited  me  in  great  wrath,  attended  by  Mr.  Larry 
Kennedy,  and  in  Pistol-like  manner  protested,  '  If  I  dare 
take  any  more  liberties  on  the  stage  in  future  with  him, 
he  was  determined  the  next  day  to  call  me  to  account.' 
But  I  pursued  my  plan,  and  was  obliged,  amongst  other 
favors  to  Mr.  Foote,  that  he  was  not  observant,  but  let 
me  rest  in  quiet.  We  often  met  drawn  up  at  noon  in  dif- 
ferent parties  in  the  Trinity  College  Gardens,  as  perfect 
strangers,  but  never  at  any  house  of  visiting ;  if  we  had, 
his  talent  of  wit  would  have  forced  me  to  have  felt  the 
severity  of  his  lash." 

A  project  of  Foote's  to  publicly  ridicule  Garrick,  fell 
through  in  a  singular  manner.  The  parties  met,  as  if  by 
accident,  at  the  house  of  a  nobleman,  the  common  friend 
of  both  j  when  alighting  at  the  same  time  from  their  char- 
iots at  his  lordship's  door,  and  exchanging  significant 
looks  at  each  other,  Garrick  broke  silence  first  by  asking, 
"  Is  it  war  or  peace  ?  "  "  Oh  !  peace,  by  all  means,"  said 
Foote,  with  apparent  good  will ;  and  the  two  spent  the 
day  together  cordially. 

Foote  had  an  especial  aversion  to  attorneys.  One  of 
this  profession,  not  remarkable  for  the  integrity  of  his 
character,  having  a  dispute  with  a  bailiff,  brought  an  ac- 
tion against  him,  which  Foote  recommended  to  be  com- 
promised. The  parties  agreed  to  do  it,  but  differed  as  to 
who  should  be  arbitrator,  and  at  length  requested  Foote 
to  act  in  that  capacity.  "  Oh  !  no  !  "  said  Foote,  "  I 
might  be  partial  to  one  or  other  of  you,  but  I  tell  you 
what,  I  '11  do  better  —  I  '11  recommend  a  thief,  as  a  com- 
mon friend  to  both." 


248  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Dining  while  in  Paris  with  Lord  Stormont,  that  thrifty 
Scotch  peer,  then  ambassador,  as  usual  produced  his  wine 
in  the  smallest  of  decanters,  and  dispensed  it  in  the 
smallest  of  glasses,  enlarging  all  the  time  on  its  exquisite 
growth  and  enormous  age.  "  It  is  very  little  of  its  age," 
said  Foote,  holding  up  his  diminutive  glass. 

Quin,  it  is  known,  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  could 
stand  a  fall  with  Foote,  and  come  off  the  better  man. 
Foote,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  could  not  endure  a  joke 
made  on  himself,  broke  friendship  with  Quin  on  account 
of  such  offense.  Ultimately  they  were  reconciled;  but 
even  then  Foote  referred  to  the  provocation.  "  Jemmy, 
you  should  not  have  said  that  I  had  but  one  shirt,  and 
that  I  lay  abed  while  it  was  washed."  "  Sammy,"  re- 
plied Quin,  "  I  never  could  have  said  so,  for  I  never  knew 
that  you  had  a  shirt  to  wash !  " 

When  down  at  Stratford,  on  the  occasion  of  the  Shake- 
speare Jubilee,  Garrick's  success  embittered  Foote's  nat- 
urally bitter  spirit.  A  well-dressed  gentleman  there  civilly 
spoke  to  him  on  the  proceedings.  "  Has  Warwickshire, 
sir,"  said  Foote,  "  the  advantage  of  having  produced  you 
as  well  as  Shakespeare?"  "  Sir,"  replied  the  gentleman, 
"  I  come  from  Essex."  "  Ah !  "  rejoined  Foote,  remem- 
bering that  county  was  famous  for  calves,  —  "  from  Essex. 
Who  drove  you  ?  " 

"  One  may,"  said  Doran,  "forgive  Foote  for  his  remark 
to  Rich,  who  had  been  addressing  him  curtly  as  '  Mister.* 
Perceiving  that  Foote  was  vexed,  Rich  apologized  by  say- 
ing, '  I  sometimes  forget  my  own  name.'  '  I  am  aston- 
ished you  could  forget  your  own  name,'  said  Foote, 
*  though  I  know  very  well  that  you  are  not  able  to  write 
it ! '  " 

Amongst  the  fairest  of  Foote's  sayings  was  the  reply 
to  Mr.  Howard's  intimation  that  he  was  about  to  publish 
a  second  edition  of  his  Thoughts  and  Maxims.  "Ay! 
second  thoughts  are  best."     Fair,  too,  was  his  retort  on 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  249 

the  person  who  alluded  to  his  "game  leg."  "Make  no 
allusion  to  my  weakest  part.  Did  I  ever  attack  your 
head?" 

Cooke,  in  his  Memoirs,  has  preserved  many  examples 
of  Foote's  wicked  wit.  In  a  song  sung  by  Mrs.  Gibber, 
there  was  this  line  : 

"  The  roses  will  bloom  when  there  's  peace  in  the  breast." 
Foote  parodied  it : 

The  turtles  will  coo  when  there  *s  pease  in  their  craws ;  " 

and  actually  destroyed  the  popularity  of  the  song. 

A  person  talking  of  an  acquaintance  of  his,  who  was 
so  avaricious  as  even  to  lament  the  prospect  of  his  funeral 
expenses,  though  a  short  time  before  he  had  been  cen- 
suring one  of  his  own  relatives  for  his  parsimonious  tem- 
per: "Now  is  it  not  strange,"  said  the  person,  "that  this 
man  would  not  take  the  beam  out  of  his  own  eye  before 
he  attempted  the  mote  in  other  people's  ?  "  "  Why,  so  I 
dare  say  he  would,"  cried  Foote,  "if  he  was  sure  of  sell- 
ing the  timber." 

On  his  return  from  Scotland,  being  asked  by  a  lady 
whether  there  was  any  truth  in  the  report  that  there  were 
no  trees  in  Scotland  :  "  A  very  malicious  report  indeed, 
my  lady,"  said  he ;  "  for  just  as  I  was  crossing  Portpat- 
rick  to  Donaghadee,  I  saw  two  blackbirds  perched  on  as 
fine  a  thistle  as  ever  I  saw  in  my  life." 

Foote,  who  lived  in  habits  of  intimacy  with  Lord  Kellie, 
took  as  many  liberties  with  his  face  (which  somewhat  re- 
sembled in  appearance  a  meridian  sun)  as  ever  Falstaff 
did  with  his  friend  Bardolph's.  One  day  his  Iprdship  choos- 
ing to  forget  his  promise  to  .dine  with  him,  it  piqued  Foote 
so,  that  he  called  out,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the 
whole  coffee-house  where  they  were  sitting,  "  Well,  my 
lord,  since  you  cannot  do  me  the  honor  of  dining  with 
me  to-day,  will  you  be  so  good,  as  you  ride  by,  just  to 
look  over  against  my  south  wall  ?  for,  as  we  have  had 


2SO  CHARACTERISTICS. 

little  or  no  sun  for  this  fortnight  past,  my  peaches  will 
want  the  assistance  of  your  lordship's  countenance." 

His  lordship  having  cracked  some  jokes  upon  one  of 
his  friends  rather  too  coarsely,  an  Irish  gentleman,  who 
heard  of  it,  said,  "  if  he  had  treated  him  so  he  would 
pull  him  by  the  nose."  "  Pull  him  by  the  nose,"  said 
Foote  J  "  you  may  as  well  thrust  your  hand  into  a  furnace." 

The  same  noble  lord  coming  into  the  club,  on  a  hot 
summer  night,  dressed  in  a  somewhat  tarnished  suit  of 
laced  clothes,  the  waiter  announced  "  Lord  Kellie ! " 
"  Lord  Kellie ! "  repeated  Foote,  looking  him  full  in  the 
face  at  tire  same  time,  "  I  thought  it  was  all  Monmouth 
street  in  flames." 

A  country  squire  just  come  to  town,  was  bragging  of 
the  great  number  of  fashionable  people  he  had  visited 
that  morning ;  "  and  among  the  rest,"  said  he,  in  a  pomp- 
ous deliberate  manner,  "  I  called  upon  my  good  friend 
the  Earl  of  Chol-mon-dely,  but  he  was  not  at  home." 
"  That  is  rather  surprising,"  said  Foote :  "  what !  nor 
none  of  his  pe-o-ple  ? " 

Being  on  a  visit  at  Crabbe  Boulton's  (chairman  of  the 
East  India  Company)  during  a  frosty  season,  where  they 
kept  very  bad  fires,  Foote  found  himself  so  uncomforta- 
ble, that  he  prepared  next  morning  for  setting  off  to  town. 
"  Eh  ! "  said  his  host,  seeing  the  chaise  at  the  door,  "  WJiy 
think  of  going  so  soon  ? "  "  Because,  if  I  stay  any  longer, 
perhaps  I  shall  not  have  a  leg  to  stand  upon."  "Why, 
we  don't  drink  so  hard."  "  No  ;  but  it  freezes  so  hard, 
and  your  servants  know  the  value  of  a  good  bit  of 
timber  so  well,  that  I  'm  in  hourly  dread  of  losing  my 
wooden  leg." 

Paul  Hiffernan,  a  mendicant  author  who  attended 
Foote's  levees,  was  fond  of  laying,  or  rather  offering, 
wagers.  One  day,  in  the  heat  of  argument,  he  cried  out, 
"  I  '11  lay  my  head  you  are  wrong  upon  that  point." 
"  Well,"  said  Foote,  "  I  accept  the  wager ;  any  trifle 
among  friends  has  a  value." 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  25 1 

"Pray,"  said  a  lady  to  Foote,  "what  sort  of  a  man  is 
Sir  John  D.  ?  "  "  Oh  !  a  very  good  sort  of  man."  "  But 
what  do  you  call  a  good  sort  of  man  ?  "  "  Why,  madam, 
one  who  preserves  all  the  exterior  decencies  of  igno- 
rance."' 

An  author  left  a  comedy  with  Foote  for  perusal ;  and 
on  the  next  visit  asked  for  his  judgment  on  it,  with  rather 
an  ignorant  degree  of  assurance.  "  If  you  looked  a  little 
more  to  the  grammar  of  it,  I  think,"  said  Foote,  "  it  would 
be  better."  "  To  the  grammar  of  it,  sir !  What !  Would 
you  send  one  to  school  again  ? "  "  And  pray,  sir,"  replied 
Foote  very  gravely,  "  would  that  do  you  any  harm  ? " 

A  clergyman  in  Essex,  not  much  celebrated  as  a 
preacher,  used  to  wear  boots  generally  on  duty ;  and  gave 
as  a  reason  for  it,  that  "  the  roads  were  so  deep  in  some 
places,  that  he  found  them  more  convenient  than  shoes." 
"Yes,"  said  Foote;  "and  I  dare  say,  equally  convenient 
in  the  pulpit ;  for  there  the  doctor  is  generally  out  of  his 
depth  too." 

Foote  called  upon  a  gentleman  of  the  law  who  did  not 
live  happily  with  his  wife.  The  servant  maid  soon  after- 
ward came  into  the  room  to  look  for  her  mistress.  "  What 
do  you  want  your  mistress  for  ? "  asked  the  barrister. 
"  Why,  indeed,  sir,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  she  scolds  me  so 
from  morning  to  night,  I  come  to  give  her  warning." 
"  What,  then  you  mean  to  leave  us } "  "  Certainly,  sir," 
said  she,  shutting  the  door  after  her.  "  Happy  girl ! " 
exclaimed  Foote  ;  "  I  most  sincerely  wish  your  poor  mas- 
ter could  give  warning  too." 

A  conceited  young  man  asking  Foote  what  apology  he 
should  make  for  not  being  one  of  the  party  the  day  before 
to  which  he  had  a  card  of  invitation ;  "  Oh,  my  dear  sir ! " 
replied  the  wit;  "say  nothing  about  it;  you  were  never 
missed." 

You  remember  Foote's  advice  to  the  Duke  of  Norfolk. 
On  a  masquerade  night,  his  Grace  consulted  the  famous 


252  CHARACTERISTICS. 

actor  as  to  what  character  he  should  appear  in.  "  Don't 
go  disguised,"  said  Foote,  "  but  assume  a  new  character 
—  go  sober."  (It  was  the  successor  of  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk in  question  who  consulted  Abernethy  for  some  ail- 
ment, and  was  asked  whether  he  had  ever  tried  the 
remedy  of  a  clean  shirt.) 

Foote,  being  notoriously  lavish  with  his  money,  was 
fond  of  taking  off  Garrick's  reputed  niggardliness.  Here 
is  an  anecdote  that  Rogers  was  fond  of  relating,  and 
which  he  is  said  to  have  told  with  infinite  humor.  At  the 
Chapter  Coffee-house,  Foote  and  his  friends  were  making 
a  contribution  for  the  relief  of  a  poor  fellow,  a  decayed 
player,  w^o  was  nicknamed  the  Captain  of  the  Four 
Winds,  because  his  hat  was  worn  into  four  spouts.  Each 
person  of  the  company  dropped  his  mite  into  the  hat, 
as  it  was  held  out  to  him.  "  If  Garrick  hears  of  this," 
exclaimed  Foote,  "  he  will  certainly  send  us  his  hat." 
"  There  is  a  witty  satirical  story  of  Foote,"  said  Johnson 
to  Boswell.  "  He  had  a  small  bust  of  Garrick  placed 
upon  his  bureau.  *  You  may  be  surprised,'  said  he,  '  that 
I  allow  him  to  be  so  near  my  gold ;  but  you  will  observe 
he  has  no  hands ! ' "  Foote  and  Garrick  were  leaving 
the  Bedford  one  night  when  Foote  had  been  the  enter- 
tainer, and  on  his  pulling  out  his  purse  to  pay  the  bill,  a 
guinea  dropped.  Impatient  at  not  immediately  finding 
it,  "  Where  on  earth  can  it  be  gone  to  ?  "  he  said.  "  Gone 
to  the  devil,  I  think,"  rejoined  Garrick,  who  had  sought 
for  it  everywhere.  "  Well  said,  David,"  cried  Foote  ;  "  let 
you  alone  for  making  a  guinea  go  farther  than  any  body 
else."  "  Garrick  and  Foote,"  says  Forster,  "  were  among 
the  company  one  day  at  the  dinner-table  of  Lord  Mans- 
field. Many  grave  people  were  there,  and  the  manager 
of  Drury  Lane  was  on  his  best  good  company  behavior. 
Every  one  listened  deferentially  to  him  as  he  enlarged  on 
the  necessity  of  prudence  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  and 
drew  his  illustration  from  Churchill's  death,  which  was 


THE  AUDACITY  OF  FOOTE.  253 

then  the  talk  of  the  town.  No  one  would  have  supposed 
it  possible  to  dislodge  him  from  such  vantage-ground  as 
this,  surrounded  by  all  the  decorums  of  life,  and  with  a 
Lord  Chief  Justice  at  the  head  of  the  table.  But  Foote 
suddenly  struck  in.  He  said  that  ever}'  question  had  two 
sides,  and  he  had  long  made  up  his  mind  on  the  advan- 
tages implied  in  the  fact  of  not  paying  one's  debts.  In  the 
first  place,  it  presupposed  some  time  or  other  the  posses- 
sion of  fortune  to  be  able  to  get  credit.  Then,  living  on 
credit  was  the  art  of  living  without  the  most  troublesome 
thing  in  the  whole  world,  which  was  money.  It  saved 
the  expense  and  annoyance  of  keeping  accounts,  and 
made  over  all  the  responsibility  to  other  people.  It  was 
the  panacea  for  the  cares  and  embarrassments  of  wealth. 
It  checked  and  discountenanced  avarice ;  while,  people 
being  always  more  liberal  of  others'  goods  than  their  own, 
it  extended  every  sort  of  encouragement  to  generosity. 
And  would  any  one  venture  to  say  that  payment  of  one's 
debts  could  possibly  draw  to  us  such  anxious  attention 
from  our  own  part  of  the  world  while  we  live,  or  such  sin- 
cere regrets  when  we  die,  as  not  paying  them.  All  which, 
Foote  put  with  such  whimsical  gravity,  and  supported 
with  such  a  surprising  abundance  of  sarcastic  illustra- 
tion, that  in  the  general  laughter  against  Garrick  no  laugh 
was  heartier  than  Lord  Mansfield's." 

Macklin's  topic,  we  are  told,  at  one  of  his  evening  lec- 
tures, was  the  employment  of  memory  in  connection  with 
the  oratorical  art,  in  the  course  of  which,  as  he  enlarged 
on  the  importance  of  exercising  memory  as  a  habit,  he 
took  occasion  to  say,  that  to  such  perfection  he  had 
brought  his  own  he  could  learn  any  thing  by  rote  on  once 
hearing  it.  Foote  waited  till  the  conclusion  of  the  lecture, 
and  then  handing  up  the  subjoined  sentences,  desired  that 
Mr.  Macklin  would  be  good  enough  to  rea(^and  after- 
ward repeat  them  from  memory.  More  amazing  nonsense 
never  was  written.     "  So  she  went  into  the  garden  to  cut 


254  CHARACTERISTICS. 

a  cabbage-leaf,  to  make  an  apple-pie ;  and  at  the  same 
time  a  great  she-bear,  coming  up  the  street,  pops  its  head 
into  the  shop.  '  What !  no  soap  ? '  So  he  died,  and  she 
very  imprudently  married  the  barber;  and  there  were 
present  the  Picninnies,  and  the  Joblillies,  and  the  Garyu- 
lies,  and  the  Grand  Panjandrum  himself,  with  the  little 
round  button  at  top  ;  and  they  all  fell  to  playing  the  game 
of  catch  as  catch  can,  till  the  gunpowder  ran  out  at  the 
heels  of  their  boots." 

One  of  the  many  victims  of  Foote's  humor  and  mimicry 
was  Alderman  George  Faulkner.  He  took  off  the  Alder- 
man, wooden  leg  and  all,  under  the  name  of  Peter  Para- 
graph. Soon  afterward  he  went  on  a  visit  with  the  Duke 
of  York  to  Lord  Mexborough's,  where,  in  hunting,  he 
rode  a  too  spirited  horse,  and  received  so  severe  a  hurt 
that  his  left  leg  had  to  be  amputated.  Old  Lord  Ches- 
terfield, who  had  •  sympathized  with  Faulkner  in  his  bit- 
terness toward  Foote,  eagerly  informed  Faulkner  of  the 
accident,  and  expressed  his  satisfaction  that  Heaven  had 
avenged  his  cause  by  punishing  his  adversary  in  the  part 
offending.  The  same  thought  had  of  course  occurred 
to  the  satirist  himself.  "  Now  I  shall  take  off  old  Faulk- 
ner indeed  to  the  life ! "  was  the  first  remark  he  made 
when  what  he  had  to  suffer  was  announced  to  him. 
Time,  for  once  at  least,  had  his  revenge,  and  mercilessly 
made  things  even. 


HABIT. 

Nothing  is  becoming,  it  is  said,  which  is  not  habitual. 
It  may  be  said  as  well,  that  life  would  be  intolerable  if 
habit  did  not  relieve  it.  Think  of  thinking  of  every- 
thing you  do  !  Life  is  so  made  up  of  infinite  little  things, 
that  the  infinite  little  things  must  of  necessity  be  done  as 
they  have  been  done  before.  Almost  mechanicaHy,  so 
habitually  most  of  them  are  done :  they  seem  even  to  do 
themselves.  Life  itself  goes  on  :  breath  following  breath 
—  almost  as  unconsciously  waking  as  sleeping.  Pretty 
certainly,  if  almost  any  human  being  were  compelled,  for 
a  single  day,  to  think,  to  reason  originally  of  his  every 
act,  even  for  that  short  period,  he  would  lose  the  power 
of  reasoning.  Habitually,  almost  every  one  dresses  one 
foot  before  the  other,  without  thinking  of  it.  When  a 
hand  goes  to  the  face,  it  touches,  almost  invariably,  one 
part  before  another.  When  you  climb  the  stairs,  the  left 
foot  or  the  right  begins  the  process.  And  so  of  a  hun- 
dred things  you  do  every  day.  Think  of  them  :  one  will 
suggest  another.  You  will  be  surprised  to  see  how  your 
life  is  made  up  of  unconsciously  formed  habits  —  small 
and  great  —  for  better  or  for  worse.  That  you  are  good 
or  bad  from  habit  mainly,  a  little  self-observation  and  re- 
flection will  reveal  to  you.  "  All  is  habit  in  mankind," 
exclaimed  Metastasio,  —  "even  virtue  itself." 

"  I  trust  every  thing  under  God,"  said  Lord  Brougham, 
"  to  habit,  upon  which  in  all  ages,  the  lawgiver  as  well  as 
the  schoolmaster,  has  mainly  placed  his  reliance  ;  habit, 
which  makes  every  thing  easy,  and  casts  all  difficulties 


256  CHARACTERISTICS. 

upon  the  deviation  from  a  wonted  course.  Make  sobriety 
a  habit,  and  intemperance  will  be  hateful;  make  pru- 
dence a  habit,  and  reckless  profligacy  will  be  as  contrary 
to  the  nature  of  the  child,  grown  or  adult,  as  the  most 
atrocious  crimes.  Give  a  child  the  habit  of  sacredly  re- 
garding the  truth ;  of  carefully  respecting  the  property  of 
others  ;  of  scrupulously  abstaining  from  all  acts  of  im- 
providence which  can  involve  him  in  distress,  and  he  will 
just  as  likely  think  of  rushing  into  an  element  in  which 
he  cannot  breathe,  as  of  lying,  cheating,  or  swearing." 

One  of  the  wisest  and  most  suggestive  precepts  to  be 
found  in  Plutarch's  Morals  cannot  be  too  often  repeated : 
"  Choose  but  the  best  condition  you  can,  and  custom  will 
make.it  pleasant  to  you."  "You  may  take  my  word," 
says  Sterne,  in  the  opening  chapter  of  Tristram  Shandy, 
"  that  nine  parts  in  ten  of  a  man's  sense,  or  his  nonsense, 
his  successes  and  miscarriages  in  this  world,  depend  upon 
the  motions  and  activity  of  the  animal  spirits,  and  the 
different  tracks  and  trains  you  put  them  into  ;  so  that 
when  they  are  once  set  a-going,  whether  right  or  wrong, 
'tis  not  a  half-penny  matter,  —  away  they  go  clattering 
like  hey-go  mad ;  and  by  treading  the  same  steps  over  and 
over  again,  they  presently  make  a  road  of  it,  as  plain  and 
as  smooth  as  a  garden-walk,  which  when  they  are  once 
used  to,  the  devil  himself  shall  not  be  able  to  drive  them 
off  it."  So  great  is  the  power  of  habit,  that  it  has  been 
often  remarked,  says  Scott,  in  one  of  his  romances,  that 
when  a  man  commences  by  acting  a  character  he  fre- 
quently ends  by  adopting  it  in  good  earnest.  So  soon 
as  Ravenswood  had  determined  upon  giving  the  Lord 
Keeper  such  hospitality  as  he  had  to  offer,  he  deemed  it 
incumbent  on  him  to  assume  the  open  and  courteous 
brow  of  a  well-pleased  host.  In  the  course  of  an  hour 
or  two,  Ravenswood,  to  his  own  surprise,  found  himself 
in  the  situation  of  one  who  frankly  does  his  best  to  en- 
tertain welcome  and  honored  guests. 


HABIT.  257 

Dr.  Johnson  was  of  opinion  that  the  force  of  our  early- 
habits  was  so  great,  that  though  reason  approved,  nay, 
though  our  senses  relished  a  different  course,  almost  every 
man  returned  to  them. 

Layard  relates  an  incident  of  a  party  of  Arabs  which 
for  some  time  had  been  employed  to  assist  him  in  exca- 
vating among  the  ruins  of  Nineveh.  One  evening,  after 
their  day's  work,  he  observed  them  following  a  flock  of 
sheep  belonging  to  the  people  of  the  village,  shouting 
their  war-cry,  flourishing  their  swords,  and  indulging  in 
the  most  extravagant  gesticulations.  He  asked  one  of 
the  most  active  of  the  party  to  explain  to  him  the  cause 
of  such  violent  proceedings.  "  O  Bey  !  "  they  exclaimed, 
almost  together,  "  God  be  praised,  we  have  eaten  butter 
and  wheaten  bread  under  your  shadow,  and  are  content ; 
but  an  Arab  is  an  Arab.  It  is  not  for  a  man  to  carry 
about  dirt  in  baskets,  and  to  use  a  spade  all  his  life ;  he 
should  be  with  his  sword  and  his  mare  in  the  desert. 
We  are  sad  as  we  think  of  the  days  when  we  plundered 
the  Anayza,  and  we  must  have  excitement  or  our  hearts 
must  break.  Let  us  then  believe  that  these  are  the  sheep 
we  have  taken  from  the  enemy,  and  that  we  are  driving 
them  to  our  tents."  And  off  they  ran,  raising  their  wild 
cry,  and  flourishing  their  swords,  to  the  no  small  alarm 
of  the  shepherd,  who  saw  his  sheep  scampering  in  all 
directions. 

"  I  have,"  says  Montaigne,  "  picked  up  boys  from  beg- 
ging, to  serve  me,  who  soon  after  have  quitted  both  my 
kitchen  and  livery,  only  that  they  might  return  to  their 
former  course  of  life ;  and  I  found  one  afterward  picking 
up  mussels  in  our  neighborhood  for  his  dinner,  whom  I 
could  neither  by  entreaties  nor  threats  reclaim  from  the 
sweetness  he  found  in  indigence." 

Habit  sometimes  produces  curious  and  amusing  phys- 
ical adaptations.  "  The  police  of  Naples,"  says  Hillard, 
in  his  Six  Months  in  Italy,  "  are  said  to  practice  a  singu- 
17 


258  CHARACTERISTICS. 

lar  test,  to  ascertain  whether  a  lad  accused  of  picking  a 
pocket  be  guilty  or  not.  The  culprit  is  required  to  place 
his  hand  upon  a  table  with  his  fingers  outstretched,  and 
if  the  forefinger  and  middle  finger  be  of  the  same  length, 
the  case  goes  against  him,  and  judgment  is  passed  ac- 
cordingly; for,  in  the  exercise  of  this  profession,  these 
two  fingers  are  made  use  of  like  a  forceps,  and  the  young 
ragamuffins  in  the  streets  are  said  to  encourage  the 
growth  of  the  forefinger  by  habitually  pulling  it." 

"On  Sundays,  at  noon,"  says  the  same  interesting 
writer,  "  the  pigeons  of  St.  Mark's  are  fed.  As  the  hour 
approaches,  flock  after  flock  of  hungry  expectants  comes 
wheeling  in,  and  the  air  is  filled  with  the  rustling  of  in- 
numerable wings,  from  which  the  sunshine  is  flung  in 
dazzling  beams."  The  pigeons  of  Venice  know  when 
Sunday  at  noon  comes. 

A  clergyman  who  filled  one  of  the  Boston  pulpits, 
drove  every  morning  into  the  city.  His  horse,  from  habit, 
and  without  any  suggestion  from  his  master,  went,  week- 
day mornings,  directly  to  the  post-office ;  Sundays,  he 
went  straight  to  the  church.  A  friend  once  told  us  of  a 
dog  belonging  to  one  of  his  relations  —  a  Quaker.  First- 
days  and  fifth-days  the  dog  always  went  to  meeting.  If 
the  family  went,  he  went  with  them  ;  if  not,  he  went 
alone.  And  he  always  occupied  the  same  spot  in  the 
meeting-house. 

Lord  Thurlow  habituated  himself  to  such  a  majestic 
air,  that  it  came  to  be  asked  whether  any  one  could  really 
be  as  wise  as  Lord  Thurlow  always  seemed.  Talleyrand's 
habit  of  mind  was  so  wary  and  suspicious,  that,  when  a 
celebrated  diplomatist  fell  ill,  he  inquired,  "  What  does 
he  mean  by  it  .-* " 

The  power  of  habit  is  exemplified  in  the  case  of  Jon- 
athan Wild  and  Count  Fathom :  Wild  could  not  keep 
his  hands  out  of  the  Count's  pockets,  although  he  knew 
they  were  empty;  nor  could  the   Count  abstain  from 


HABIT.  259 

palming  a  card,  although  he  was  well  aware  Wild  had  no 
money  to  pay  him.  In  his  last  hours,  whilst  the  ordi- 
nary was  busy  in  his  ejaculations.  Wild,  in  the  midst  of 
the  shower  of  stones,  etc.,  which  played  upon  him,  ap- 
plied his  hand  to  the  parson's  pocket,  and  emptied  it  of 
his  corkscrew,  which  he  carried  out  of  the  world  in  his 
hand. 

The  practice  of  hanging  in  chains,  although  discontin- 
ued before  its  formal  abolition,  lasted  far  into  the  present 
century.  Within  living  memory,  it  is  stated,  a  batch  of 
pirates  was  hung  in  chains  in  the  marshes  before  Wool- 
wich. A  farmer  and  his  son  who  rented  the  ground  hap- 
pening to  take  a  close  inspection  of  the  victims,  saw 
symptoms  of  life  in  one,  took  him  down,  carried  him 
home  with  them,  and  employed  him  as  a  farm  servant ; 
till  one  night,  finding  him  at  his  old  trade  of  thieving, 
they  laid  hold  of  him,  twisted  his  neck,  and  replaced  him 
on  the  gallows ;  not  at  all  imagining  that  they  had  been 
guilty  of  any  description  of  irregularity. 

After  Gulliver  had  been  snatched  from  Brobdingnag  by 
the  eagle,  and  rescued  from  the  sea,  he  astonished  Cap- 
tain Wilcocks  by  the  loudness  of  his  voice.  He  ex- 
plained it  by  saying  that  he  had  been  used  to  that  tone 
for  two  years  ;  that  "  when  he  spoke  in  that  country,  it 
was  like  a  man  talking  in  the  streets,  to  another  looking 
out  from  the  top  of  a  steeple." 

"  A  tallow  chandler,"  says  Southey,  in  The  Doctor, 
"  having  amassed  a  fortune,  disposed  of  his  business, 
and  took  a  house  in  the  country,  not  far  from  London, 
that  he  might  enjoy  himself ;  but,  after  a  few  months' 
trial  of  a  holiday  life,  requested  permission  of  his  suc- 
cessor to  come  into  town  and  assist  him  on  melting-days. 
The  keeper  of  a  retail  spirit-shop,  having  in  like  manner 
retired  from  trade,  used  to  employ  himself  by  having  one 
puncheon  filled  with  water,  and  measuring  it  off  by  pints 
into  another.    A  butcher  in  a  small  town,  for  some  little 


260  CHARACTERISTICS. 

time  after  he  had  left  off  business,  informed  his  old  cus- 
tomers that  he  meant  to  kill  a  lamb  once  a  week,  just  for 
amusement." 

Sergeant  Ballantine  commenced  practice  in  Inner  Tem- 
ple Lane.  His  father  furnished  his  chambers,  and  one  of 
the  principal  articles  he  sent  him  was  a  horse-hair  arm- 
chair with  only  three  legs,  upon  which  the  future  great 
barrister  got  so  accustomed  to  balance  himself  that  he 
scarcely  felt  safe  on  one  furnished  with  the  proper  com- 
plement. 

Avarice  is  a  vice  that  is  especially  the  product  of  habit  j 
and  it  grows  and  grows  to  the  end.  "  Other  vices,"  says 
St.  Ambrose,  "  decay  with  our  age ;  but  avarice  renews 
its  youth."  An  epitaph  on  a  rude  grave-stone  in  Cali- 
fornia puts  it  more  forcibly  if  not  so  philosophically  and 
elegantly : 

"  Here  lies  old  Thirty-five  per  cent. ! 

The  more  he  got  the  more  he  lent ; 

The  more  he  got  the  more  he  craved  ; 

The  more  he  made  the  more  h'.  shaved  — 

Good  God  !  can  such  a  soul  be  saved  ? " 

Foster,  in  his  famous  essay  On  Decision  of  Character, 
mentions  a  young  man  "who  wasted  in  two  or  three 
years  a  large  patrimony  in  profligate  revels  with  a  num- 
ber of  worthless  associates  who  called  themselves  his 
friends,  and  who,  when  his  last  means  were  exhausted, 
treated  him  of  course  with  neglect  or  contempt.  Reduced 
to  absolute  want  he  one  day  went  out  of  the  house  with 
an  intention  to  put  an  end  to  his  life  ;  but  wandering 
awhile,  almost  unconsciously,  he  came  to  the  brow  of  an 
eminence  which  overlooked  what  were  lately  his  estates. 
Here  he  sat  down,  and  remained  fixed  in  thought  a  num- 
ber of  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  he  sprang  from  the 
ground  with  a  vehement,  exulting  emotion.  He  had 
formed  his  resolution,  which  was,  that  all  these  estates 
should  be  his  again  j  he  had  formed  his  plan  too,  which 


HABIT.  261 

he  instantly  began  to  execute.  He  walked  hastily  for- 
ward, determined  to  seize  the  very  first  opportunity,  of 
however  humble  a  kind,  to  gain  any  money,  though  it 
were  ever  so  despicable  a  trifle,  and  resolved  absolutely 
not  to  spend,  if  he  could  help  it,  a  farthing  of  whatever 
he  might  obtain.  The  first  thing  that  drew  his  attention 
was  a  heap  of  coals  shot  out  of  carts  on  the  pavement 
before  a  house.  He  offered  himself  to  shovel  or  wheel 
them  into  the  place  where  they  were  to  be  laid,  and  was 
employed.  He  received  a  few  pence  for  the  labor ;  and 
then,  in  pursuance  of  the  saving  part  of  his  plan,  re- 
quested some  small  gratuity  of  meat  and  drink,  which 
was  given  him.  He  then  looked  out  for  the  next  thing 
that  might  chance  to  offer ;  and  went,  with  indefatigable 
industry,  through  a  succession  of  servile  employments,  in 
different  places,  of  longer  and  shorter  duration,  still  scru- 
pulously avoiding,  as  far  as  possible,  the  expense  of  a 
penny.  He  promptly  seized  every  opportunity  which 
could  advance  his  design,  without  regarding  the  mean- 
ness of  occupation  or  appearance.  By  this  method  he 
had  gained,  after  a  considerable  time,  money  enough  to 
purchase,  in  order  to  sell  again,  a  few  cattle,  of  which  he 
had  taken  pains  to  understand  the  value.  He  speedily 
but  cautiously  turned  his  first  gains  into  second  advan- 
tages; retained  without  a  single  deviation  his  extreme 
parsimony ;  and  thus  advanced  by  degrees  into  larger 
transactions  and  incipient  wealth."  The  essayist  did  not 
hear,  or  had  forgotten,  the  continued  course  of  his  life  ; 
but  the  final  result  was,  that  he  more  than  recovered  his 
lost  possessions,  and  died  an  inveterate  miser,  worth  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  dollars. 

The  avarice  of  the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough  is  his- 
torical. "  One  day,"  said  Pope  to  Spence,  "  as  the  duke 
was  looking  over  some  papers  in  his  scrutoire  with  Lord 
Cadogan,  he  opened  one  of  his  little  drawers,  took  out  a 
green  purse,  and  turned   some  broad  pieces  out  of  it. 


262  CHARACTERISTICS. 

After  viewing  them  for  some  time,  with  a  satisfaction  that 
appeared  very  visibly  in  his  face  ;  '  Cadogan,'  said  he, 
*  observe  these  pieces  well !  They  deserve  to  be  ob- 
served ;  there  are  just  forty  of  them  :  't  is  the  very  first  sum 
I  ever  got  in  my  life,  and  I  have  kept  it  always  unbroken 
from  that  time  to  this  day.'  This  shows  how  early,  and 
how  strongly,  this  passion  must  have  been  upon  him." 

You  recollect  that  fine  passage  of  Macaulay's  in  his 
History :  "  Avarice  is  rarely  the  vice  of  a  young  man ;  it 
is  rarely  the  vice  of  a  great  man  ;  but  Marlborough  was 
one  of  the  few  who  have,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  loved 
lucre  more  than  wine  or  women,  and  who  have,  at  the 
height  of  greatness,  loved  lucre  more  than  power  or  fame. 
All  the  precious  gifts  which  nature  had  lavished  on  him 
he  valued  chiefly  for  what  they  would  fetch.  At  twenty 
he  made-  money  of  his  beauty  and  his  vigor.  At  sixty  he 
made  money  of  his  genius  and  his  glory.  The  applauses 
which  were  justly  due  to  his  conduct  at  Walcourt  could 
not  altogether  drown  the  voices  of  those  who  muttered 
that,  wherever  a  broad  piece  was  to  be  saved  or  got,  this 
hero  was  a  mere  Euclio,  a  mere  Harpagon  ;  that,  though 
he  drew  a  large  allowance  under  pretense  of  keeping  a 
public  table,  he  never  asked  an  officer  to  dinner ;  that  his 
muster  rolls  were  fraudulently  made  up ;  that  he  pocketed 
pay  in  the  names  of  men  who  had  long  been  dead,  of 
men  who  had  been  killed  in  his  own  sight  four  years  be- 
fore at  Sedgemoor ;  that  there  were  twenty  such  names  in 
one  troop ;  that  there  were  thirty-six  in  another." 

A  beggar  once  asked  an  alms  of  Lord  Peterborough, 
and  called  him  by  mistake  "  My  Lord  Marlborough."  "  I 
am  not  Lord  Marlborough,"  replied  the  earl,  "  and  to 
prove  it  to  you,  here  is  a  guinea."  Lord  Bolingbroke, 
writing  to  one  of  his  friends,  said,  "I  am  very  sorry  my 
Lord  Marlborough  gives  you  so  much  trouble.  It  is  the 
only  thing  he  will  give  you."  The  duke,  some  3^ears  be- 
fore his   death,  retired  occasionally  to  Bath,  and  often 


HABIT.  263 

amused  himself  with  cards,  though  he  seldom  ventured 
to  play  high.  One  night  he  was  engaged  at  piquet  with 
Dean  Jones,  from  whom  he  had  won  sixpence,  and  ex- 
acted payment.  The  dean  declared  he  had  no  silver, 
but  borrowed  the  money,  as  the  duke  said  he  wanted  it 
to  pay  for  his  sedan  chair.  The  dean,  knowing  the 
duke's  avarice,  watched  him,  and  saw  him  actually  walk- 
ing home,  in  order  to  save  the  sixpence.  Pope  speaks 
of  him  as  one  who  would  "  Now  save  a  sixpence,  and  now 
save  a  groat." 

"  You  don't  say  that  your  husband  the  duke  is  with- 
out faults  ? "  saiS  Lady  Sunderland  to  the  Duchess  of 
Marlborough.  "  By  no  means,"  was  the  reply  :  "  I  knew 
them  better  than  he  did  himself,  or  even  than  I  do  my 
own.  He  came  back  one  day  from  my  poor  misled  mis- 
tress Queen  Anne  (I  believe  when  he  resigned  his  com- 
mission), and  said  he  had  told  her,  that  he  thanked  God, 
with  all  his  faults,  neither  avarice  nor  ambition  could  be 
laid  to  his  charge." 

Crabb  Robinson,  in  his  Diary,  speaks  of  one  of  these 
habitual  accumulators  for  whom  his  nephew  made  a  will. 
The  man  was  supposed  to  be  at  the  point  of  death,  and 
he  produced  from  under  his  bed,  in  gold  and  silver,  up- 
wards of  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  A  banker's  clerk  was 
sent  for,  and  the  money  was  secured.  When  the  old  wife 
found  out  what  had  taken  place,  she  scolded  him  with 
such  fury  that  she  went  into  a  fit  and  died.  The  man 
in  great  agitation  produced  an  additional  one  thousand 
and  forty  dollars  ;  but  this  he  insisted  on  giving  away  ab- 
solutely to  some  poor  people  who  were  near  him,  and 
had  served  him.  The  money  was  tied  up  in  old  stock- 
ings and  filthy  rags.  When  he  was  informed  of  his  wife's 
death,  he  eagerly  demanded  her  pockets,  and  took  from 
them  a  few  shillings  with  great  avidity.  The  accumula- 
tion was  the  result  of  a  life  of  continued  abstinence. 

There  is  an  account  of  a  millionaire  who  was  accused 


264  CHARACTERISTICS. 

of  wishing  to  invest  the  accumulations  of  more  than  half 
a  century  in  one  big  bank-note,  and  carry  it  out  of  the 
world  with  him.  When  Lord  Erskine  heard  that  some- 
body had  died  worth  two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  he 
observed,  "  Well,  that 's  a  very  pretty  sum  to  begin  the 
next  world  with." 

Rousseau  went  to  Venice  as  Secretary  to  the  French 
ambassador,  the  Count  of  Montaign.  Avarice  was  the 
count's  most  remarkable  trait.  Careful  observation  had 
persuaded  him  that  three  shoes  are  equivalent  to  two 
pairs,  because  there  is  always  one  of  a  pair  which  is  more 
worn  than  the  other ;  and  hence  he  habitually  ordered 
his  shoes  in  threes. 

La  Fontaine  was  always  forgetting  himself.  Having 
attended  the  funeral  of  a  friend,  he  was  so  absent-minded 
as  to  call  upon  him  a  short  time  afterwards.  Being  re- 
minded of  the  fact,  he  was  at  first  greatly  surprised,  but 
recollecting  himself,  said :  "It  is  true  enough,  for  I  was 
there." 

Ampbre,  the  great  mathematician,  wrote  rather  by  mov- 
ing his  arm  than  his  fingers,  and  in  a  hand  so  immense 
that  a  gentleman  sent  him  an  invitation  to  dinner  penned 
within  the  outline  of  the  first  letter  of  his  signature. 

The  attendant  of  the  elder  Mathews  in  his  last  illness 
intended  to  give  his  patient  some  medicine  ;  but  a  few 
minutes  afterward  it  was  discovered  that  the  medicine 
was  nothing  but  ink,  which  had  been  taken  from  the 
phial  by  mistake,  and  his  friend  exclaimed,  "  Good  Heav- 
ens, Mathews,  I  have  given  you  ink ! "  "  Never  mind, 
my  boy,"  said  Mathews,  faintly  (joking  to  the  last),  "  I  '11 
swallow  a  bit' of  blotting  paper." 

People  objected  (in  Bleak  House)  to  Professor  Dingo 
(Mrs.  Badger's  second  husband),  that  he  disfigured  some 
of  the  houses  and  other  buildings  by  chipping  off  frag- 
ments of  those  edifices  with  his  little  geological  hammer. 
But  the  professor  replied  that  he  knew  of  no  building, 


HABIT.  265 

save  the  Temple  of  Science.  In  his  last  illness  (his  mind 
wandering),  he  insisted  on  keeping  his  little  hammer 
under  the  pillow,  and  chipping  at  the  countenances  of  the 
attendants. 

Kant,  to  aid  his  thoughts,  had  a  habit  of  fixing  his  at, 
tention  closely  on  some  one  auditor,  and  judged  by  him 
whether  he  was  understood.  Once  a  button  on  a  stu- 
dent's coat,  which  he  had  made  his  fixed  point  of  vision, 
being  lost,  disconcerted  the  philosopher  and  interrupted 
the  lecture.  A  tower  on  which  he  used  to  gaze,  in  his 
reveries  at  home,  having  become  hidden  by  the  growth  of 
trees,  he  could  not  rest  until  the  foliage  was  cut  away. 
Neander  had  a  habit,  when  he  was  lecturing,  of  playing 
with  a  goose-quill  which  his  amanuensis  always  provided 
for  him,  constantly  crossing  and  recrossing  his  feet,  his 
figure  bent  forward,  and  his  head  down,  except  when 
excited,  when  it  suddenly  went  up,  at  such  times,  we  are 
told,  fairly  threatening  to  turn  the  desk  over.  Madame 
de  Stael,  it  is  stated,  had  a  way,  while  she  discoursed,  of 
taking  a  scrap  of  paper  and  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  snip- 
ping it  to  bits,  as  an  employment  for  her  fingers.  Once 
she  was  observed  to  be  at  a  loss  for  this  her  usual 
mechanical  resource,  when  a  gentleman  quietly  placed 
near  her  the  back  of  a  letter  from  his  pocket :  afterward 
she  earnestly  thanked  him  for  this  timely  supply  of  the 
means  she  desired  as  a  needful  aid  to  thought  and  speech. 
Gibbon  held  a  pinch  of  snuff  between  his  finger  and 
thumb  while  he  told  an  anecdote,  invariably  dropping  the 
pinch  at  the  point  of  the  story.  Lord  Bacon  had  a  habit 
of  "  wringing  his  speeches  from  the  strings  of  his  bands," 
and  Ben  Jonson  of  "  drawing  poetic  inspiration  from  his 
great  toe."  "  He  hath,"  says  Drummond  of  Hawthorn- 
den,  '*  consumed  a  whole  night  in  lying  looking  to  his 
great  toe,  about  which  he  hath  seen  Tartars  and  Turks, 
Romans  and  Carthaginians,  fight  in  imagination."  Schiller 
kept  a  drawer  in  his  work-room  always  filled  with  rotten 


266  CHARACTERISTICS. 

apples.  "  I  called  on  him  one  day,"  said  Goethe,  "  and 
as  I  did  not  find  him  at  home,  and  his  wife  told  me  that 
he  would  soon  return,  I  seated  myself  at  his  work-table  to 
note  down  various  matters.  I  had  not  been  seated  long 
before  I  felt  a  strange  indisposition  steal  over  me,  which 
gradually  increased,  until  at  last  I  nearly  fainted.  At 
first  I  did  not  know  to  what  cause  I  should  ascribe  this 
wretched  and,  to  me,  unusual  state,  until  I  discovered 
that  a  dreadful  odor  issued  from  a  drawer  near  me. 
When  I  opened  it,  I  found  to  my  astonishment  that  it 
was  full  of  rotten  apples.  I  immediately  went  to  the 
window  and  inhaled  the  fresh  air,  by  which  I  felt  myself 
instantly  restored.  In  the  mean  time  his  wife  had  re- 
entered, and  told  me  that  the  drawer  was  always  filled 
with  rotten  apples,  because  the  scent  was  beneficial  to 
Schiller,  and  he  could  not  live  or  work  without  it." 

One  day  they  were  waiting  dinner  at  Charles  Sheridan's 
for  Dr.  Johnson.  "  Take  out  your  opera-glass,"  said  the 
host  to  one  of  his  guests  ;  "  Johnson  is  coming ;  you  may 
know  him  by  his  gait."  "  I  passed  him,"  responded  the 
guest,  "  at  a  good  distance,  working  along  with  a  peculiar 
solemnity  of  deportment,  and  an  awkward  sort  of  meas- 
ured step.  At  that  time  the  broad  flagging  at  each  side 
the  streets  was  not  universally  adopted,  and  stone  posts 
were  in  fashion  to  prevent  the  annoyance  of  carriages. 
Upon  every  post,  as  he  passed  along,  I  could  observe,  he 
deliberately  laid  his  hand  :  but  missing  one  of  them,  when 
he  had  got  at  some  distance,  he  seemed  suddenly  to  rec- 
ollect himself,  and  immediately  returning  back,  carefully 
resumed  his  former  course,  not  omitting  one  till  he 
gained  the  crossing."  This,  Mr.  Sheridan  stated,  however 
odd  it  might  appear,  was  his  constant  practice ;  but  why 
or  wherefore  he  could  give  no  information. 

"  Dr.  Johnson  had  another  particularity,"  says  Bos> 
well,  "  of  which  none  of  his  friends  ever  ventured  to  ask 
an  explanation.     It  appeared  to  me  some  superstitious 


HABIT.  267 

habit,  which  he  had  contracted  early,  and  from  which  he 
had  never  called  upon  his  reason  to  disentangle  him. 
This  was  his  anxious  care  to  go  out  or  in,  at  a  door  or 
passage,  by  a  certain  number  of  stages  from  a  certain 
point,  or  at  least  so  as  that  either  his  right  or  his  left 
foot  (I  am  not  certain  which)  should  constantly  make 
the  first  actual  movement  when  he  came  close  to  the 
door  or  passage.  Thus  I  conjecture ;  for  I  have,  upon 
innumerable  occasions,  observed  him  suddenly  stop,  and 
then  seem  to  count  his  steps  with  a  deep  earnestness  ; 
and  when  he  had  neglected  or  gone  wrong  in  this  sort  of 
magical  movement,  I  have  seen  him  go  back  again,  put 
himself  in  a  proper  posture  to  begin  the  ceremony,  and, 
having  gone  through  it,  break  from  his  abstraction,  walk 
briskly  on,  and  join  his  companion."  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds had  observed  him  to  go  a  good  way  about,  rather 
than  cross  a  particular  alley ;  but  this  Sir  Joshua  imputed 
to  his  having  had  some  disagreeable  recollection  asso- 
ciated with  it. 

Malherbe,  the  French  poet,  on  account  of  a  delicate 
ear  and  refined  taste,  and  a  habit  of  criticising  every  thing 
that  he  saw  or  heard,  was  called  "  the  tyrant  of  words 
and  syllables."  When  dying,  his  confessor,  in  speaking 
of  the  happiness  of  heaven,  expressed  himself  inaccu- 
rately. "  Say  no  more  about  it,"  said  Malherbe,  "  or 
your  style  will  disgust  me  with  it." 

Readers  of  Rabelais  will  remember  that  on  one  occa- 
sion Gargantua  could  not  sleep  by  any  means,  on  which 
side  soever  he  turned  himself.  Whereupon  Friar  John 
said  to  him,  I  never  sleep  soundly  but  when  I  am  at  ser- 
mon or  prayers.  Let  us  therefore  begin,  you  and  I,  the 
Seven  Penitential  Psalms,  to  try  whether  you  shall  not 
quickly  fall  asleep.  The  conceit  pleased  Gargantua  very 
well,  and,  beginning  the  first  of  these  psalms,  as  soon  as 
they  came  to  the  words,  Beati  quorum,  they  fell  asleep 
both  the  one  and  the  other. 


268  CHARACTERISTICS. 

The  detestable  habit  of  fault-finding  —  too  common  in 
this  world,  as  all  good-natured  people  know — was  once, 
we  remember,  most  effectually  rebuked  by  Crabb  Rob- 
inson. It  was  during  one  of  his  visits  to  Paris.  A  great 
part  of  a  day  had  been  spent  sight-seeing  with  a  London 
acquaintance,  who  said  to  him  at  parting,  "  I  will  call  for 
you  to-morrow."  "  I  will  thank  you  not  to  call,"  replied 
the  kindly  and  philosophic  barrister.  "  I  would  rather 
not  see  any  thing  else  with  you,  and  I  will  tell  you 
frankly  why.  I  am  come  to  Paris  to  enjoy  myself,  and 
that  enjoyment  needs  the  accompaniment  of  sympathy 
with  others.  Now,  you  dislike  every  thing,  and  find  fault 
with  every  thing.  You  see  nothing  which  you  do  not  find 
inferior  to  what  you  have  seen  before.  This  may  be  all 
very  true,  but  it  makes  me  very  uncomfortable.  I  be- 
lieve, if  I  were  forced  to  live  with  you,  I  should  kill  my- 
self. So  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  in  London,  but  no 
more  in  Paris." 

In  contrast  with  this  habit  of  fault-finding  is  the  phil- 
osophic turn  of  mind  that  finds  the  bright  side  of  things, 
and  turns  even  misfortunes  into  blessings.  Nathan 
James,  of  the  Alamo,  once  owned  a  large  merino  ewe 
which  he  valued  highly.  His  son  informed  him  one 
morning  that  his  favorite  ewe  had  twins.  Mr.  James 
said  he  "was  glad;  she  could  bring  up  two  as  well  as 
one."  Soon  after,  the  son  reported  one  of  the  twins 
dead.  The  father  said,  "  the  one  left  would  be  worth 
more  in  the  autumn  than  both."  In  the  afternoon  the 
boy  told  his  father  that  the  other  lamb  was  d$ad.  "  I  am 
glad,"  said  he ;  "I  can  now  fatten  the  old  sheep  for  mut- 
ton." In  the  morning  the  boy  reported  the  old  ewe  dead.  • 
"  That  is  just  what  I  wanted,"  said  the  old  farmer;  "now 
I  am  rid  of  the  breed." 

The  rapid  growth  of  a  habit  of  committing  improper 
or  unlawful  acts,  is  shown  in  an  instance  given  by  Dr. 
Hammond,   in  a  recent  interesting  article  entitled  A 


HABIT.  269 

Problem  for  Sociologists.  A  lady  came  under  his  ob- 
servation who  was  subject  to  no  delusion,  and  who  had 
never  exhibited  any  evidence  of  mental  alienation  except 
in  showing  an  impulse,  which  she  declared  she  could  not 
control,  to  throw  valuable  articles  into  the  fire.  At  first, 
as  she  said  in  her  confession  to  the  doctor,  the  impulse 
was  excited  by  the  satisfaction  she  derived  from  seeing 
an  old  pair  of  slippers  curl  up  into  fantastic  shapes  after 
she  had  thrown  them  into  a  blazing  wood-fire.  She  re- 
peated the  act  the  following  day,  but,  not  having  a  pair 
of  old  shoes  to  burn,  she  used  instead  a  felt  hat  which 
was  no  longer  fashionable.  But  this  did  not  undergo  con- 
tortions like  the  shoes,  and  therefore  she  had  no  pleasur- 
able sensations  like  those  of  the  day  before,  and  thus,  as 
far  as  any  satisfaction  was  concerned,  the  experiment  was 
a  failure.  On  the  ensuing  day,  however,  she  felt,  to  her 
great  surprise,  that  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  burn 
something.  She  was  very  clear  that  this  pleasure  con- 
sisted solely  in  the  fulfillment  of  an  impulse  which,  to  a 
great  extent,  had  been  habitual.  She  therefore  seized  a 
handsomely  bound  prayer-book  which  lay  on  the  table, 
and  throwing  it  into  the  fire,  turned  away  her  face,  and 
walked  to  another  part  of  the  room.  It  was  very  certain, 
therefore,  that  she  was  no  longer  gratified  by  the  sight  of 
the  burning  articles.  She  went  on  repeating  these  acts 
with  her  own  things,  and  even  with  those  which  did  not 
belong  to  her,  until  she  became  a  nuisance  to  herself,  and 
to  all  those  with  whom  she  had  any  relations.  Her  de- 
structive propensities  stopped  at  nothing  which  was  cap- 
able of  being  consumed.  Books,  bonnets,  shawls,  laces, 
handkerchiefs,  and  even  table-cloths  and  bed-linen,  helped 
to  swell  the  list  of  her  sacrifices.  As  soon  as  she  had 
thrown  the  articles  into  the  fire,  the  impulse  was  satis- 
fied. She  did  not  care  to  see  them  burn  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, the  sight  was  rather  disagreeable  to  her  than  other- 
wise.    But  the  power  which  affected  her  the  way  it  did, 


270  CHARACTERISTICS. 

she  represented  as  being  imperative,  and,  if  not  immedi- 
ately allowed  to  act,  giving  rise  to  the  most  irritable  and 
unpleasant  sensations,  which  she  could  not  describe  other- 
wise than  by  saying  that  she  felt  as  if  she  would  have  to 
fly,  or  jump,  or  run,  and  that  there  was  a  feeling  under 
the  skin  all  over  the  body  as  though  the  flesh  were  in 
motion.  As  soon  as  she  had  yielded  to  the  impulse,  these 
sensations  departed. 

The  habit  of  scolding,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  say, 
is  of  like  rapid  growth,  and  soon  ends  in  a  species  of 
noxious  insanity,  which  few  persons  in  this  world  are 
happy  enough  to  avoid  seeing  frequent  exhibitions  of, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  supreme  delectation  of  being  able 
altogether  to  escape  being  its  victims.  Husbands,  wives, 
schoolmasters,  clergj^men,  unmarried  men  and  unmarried 
women  of  a  certain  age  —  all  are  liable  to  this  distress- 
ing, detestable,  nearly  incurable  mental  and  moral  mal- 
ady.    God  help  us  ! 

Perhaps  no  really  great  man  ever  existed  who  had  the 
habit  of  detraction  and  vituperation  to  compare  with 
Thomas  Carlyle.  To  him,  the  Edinburgh  clergy  were 
"  narrow,  ignorant,  and  barren  without  exception."  He 
rode  sixty  miles  to  consult  an  eminent  Edinburgh  physi- 
cian. "  Found,"  he  says,  "  after  long  months,  that  I 
might  as  well  have  ridden  sixty  miles  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection, and  poured  my  sorrows  into  the  long  hairy  ear  of 
the  first  jackass  I  came  upon,  as  into  the  select  med- 
ical man's."  "  I  knew  Robert  Burns,"  he  says,  "  and  I 
knew  my  father.  Yet.  were  you  to  ask  me  which  had  the 
greater  natural  faculty,  I  might  actually  pause  before  re- 
plying." "  It  was  not  with  aversion  that  my  father  re- 
garded Burns ;  at  worst,  with  indifference  and  neglect." 
"Intrinsically  a  poor  creature  this  Bulwer,"  he  wrote; 
"  has  a  bustling  whisking  agility  and  restlessness  which 
may  support  him  in  a  certain  degree  of  significance  with 
some,  but  which  partakes  much  of  the  nature  of  levity. 


HABIT.  271 

Nothing  truly  notable  can  come  of  him  or  of  it."  "  One 
of  the  wretchedest  Phantasms  I  had  yet  fallen  in  with." 
De  Quincey  was  "  a  pretty  little  creature,  full  of  wire- 
drawn ingenuities,  bankrupt  enthusiasm,  bankrupt  pride," 
etc.  "  Poor,  fine-strung  weak  creature,  launched  so  into 
the  literary  career  of  ambition  and  mother  of  dead  dogs  " 
(as  he  called  London).  "  Shaped  like  a  pair  of  tongs." 
Leigh  Hunt,  who  was  very  useful  and  kind  to  him  in 
many  ways,  "  had  to  be  associated  with  on  cautious 
terms."  "  Good  humor  and  no  common  sense."  "  Hug- 
germugger  was  the  type  of  his  economies,  in  all  respects, 
financial  and  other."  (This  of  the  ''beautiful  old  man," 
as  Hawthorne  calls  him,  who,  when  he  told  the  news  of 
his  pension,  received  the  kiss  from  Mrs.  Carlyle  which  he 
immortalized  in  the  improvisation :  — 

*'  Jenny  kissed  me  when  we  met, 

Jumping  from  the  chair  she  sat  in. 
Time,  you  thief  !  who  love  to  get .. 
Sweets  into  your  list,  put  that  in. 
Say  I  'm  weary,  say  I  'm  sad  ; 

Say  that  health  and  wealth  have  missed  me ; 
Say  I  'm  growing  old,  but  add  — 

Jenny  kissed  me  !  " 

"I  wish,"  said  Hawthorne,  " that  he  could  have  had  one 
full  draught  of  prosperity  before  he  died  ;  as  a  matter 
of  artistic  propriety,  it  would  have  been  delightful  to  see 
him  inhabiting  a  beautiful  house  of  his  own,  in  an  Italian 
climate,  with  all  sorts  of  elaborate  upholstery  and  minute 
elegances  about  him,  and  a  succession  of  tender  and 
lovely  women  to  praise  his  sweet  poetry  from  morning  to 
night.")  "  Coleridge,"  grumbles  the  philosopher,  "  a  puf- 
fy, anxious,  obstructed-looking,  fattish  old  man,  hobbled 
about  with  us,  talking  with  a  kind  of  solemn  emphasis  on 
matters  which  were  of  no  interest."  Milnes,  one  of  the 
English  friends  who  most  appreciated  him,  he  describes 
as  "  a  pretty,  robin-redbreast  of  a  man."    Of  Wordsworth 


2/2  CHARACTERISTICS. 

he  says,  "  Franker  utterances  of  mere  garrulities  and 
even  platitudes  I  never  heard  from  any  man."  Southey 
is  "  shovel-hatted ;  the  shovel  hat  is  grown  to  him." 
Thackeray  is  "  a  big,  fierce,  weeping,  hungry  man  ;  not  a 
Strong  one."  Tennyson,  though  "  a  true  human  soul,"  is 
a  man  "  dwelling  in  an  element  of  gloom  —  carrying  a  bit 
of  Chaos  about  him,  in  short,  which  he  is  manufacturing 
into  Cosmos."  Landor's  "  intellectual  faculty,"  seemed 
to  him  "  to  be  weak  in  proportion  to  his  violence  of  tem- 
per ;  the  judgment  he  gives  about  any  thing  is  more  apt 
to  be  wrong  than  right."  Of  Lamb,  he  says,  "  At  his  own 
house,  I  saw  him  once;  once  I  gradually  felt  to  have 
been  enough  for  me."  "  His  talk  contemptibly  small,  in- 
dicating wondrous  ignorance  and  shallowness,  even  when 
it  was  serious  and  good-mannered,  which  it  seldom  was." 
"  A  more  pitiful,  rickety,  grasping,  staggering,  stammer- 
ing tomfool  I  do  not  know."  "  Poor  England,  when  such 
a  despicable  abortion  is  named  genius."  Of  Basil  Mon- 
tagu, whose  hospitality  he  often  enjoyed,  he  says  :  "  Much 
a  bore  to  you  by  degrees,  and  considerably  a  humbug  if 
you  probed  too  strictly."  "Washington,"  he  writes,  "is 
another  of  our  perfect  characters  ;  to  me,  a  most  limited, 
uninteresting  sort."  He  said  to  an  American  in  a  rough 
way,  speaking  of  Sparks'  Biography  of  Washington,  that 
"  the  life  of  George  Washington  had  yet  to  be  written, 
and  he  would  have  to  be  taken  down  several  pegs."  He 
expected  to  meet  Washington  Irving  at  a  breakfast  in 
Paris.  "  I  never  met  Washington  at  all,"  he  records, 
"but  still  have  a  mild  esteem  of  the  good  man."  Acci- 
dentally, he  says,  he  heard  the  famous  Robert  Hall 
preach.  He  thought  the  doctor  "  proved  beyond  shadow 
of  doubt,  in  a  really  forcible,  but  most  superfluous  way, 
that  God  never  lied."  Mazzini  he  met,  and  thought  "  well 
nigh  cracked  by  an  enormous  conceit  of  himself."  "  I 
once  saw  Godwin,"  he  says,  "  if  that  was  any  thing."  He 
speaks  of  "  Macaulay's  swaggering  articles  in  the  Edin- 


HABIT.  273 

burgh  Review,"  and  says,  "  Of  Macaulay  I  hear  nothing 
very  good."  "It  seems  to  me  of  small  consequence 
whether  we  meet  at  all."  "  Poor  Hazlitt !  "  he  exclaims. 
"  He  was  never  admirable  to  me."  "  Of  no  sound  cul- 
ture whatever."  Heine  he  calls  "blackguard  Heine." 
"  I  have  also  seen  Thomas  Campbell,"  he  says.  "  Him  I 
like  worst  of  all.  He  is  heartless  as  a  little  Edinburgh 
advocate.  There  is  a  smirk  on  his  face  which  would 
befit  a  shopman  or  an  auctioneer.  His  very  eye  has  the 
cold  vivacity  of  a  conceited  worldling.  His  talk  is  small, 
contemptuous,  and  shallow." 

The  other  sex,  even,  he  employed  his  great  pen  in  dis- 
paraging. Lady  William  Russell,  the  most  cherished  of 
his  wife's  titled  friends,  he  speaks  of  as  "  a  finished  piece 
of  social  art,  but  hardly  otherwise  much."  Old  Lady 
Holland  he  "viewed  even  with  aversion,  as  a  kind  of 
hungry,  *  ornamented  witch.'  "  Edward  Irving's  sweet- 
heart —  afterward  Irving's  wife  —  he  pronounced  "  never 
quite  satisfactory  on  the  side  of  genuineness."  **  She  was 
very  ill-looking  withal ;  a  skin  always  under  blotches  and 
discolorment ;  muddy  gray  eyes,  which  for  their  part 
never  laughed  with  the  other  features  ;  pock-marked,  ill- 
shapen,  triangular  kind  of  face,  with  hollow  cheeks  and 
long  chin;  decidedly  unbeautiful  as  a  young  woman." 
"  Spring-Rice's  daughter,  —  a  languishing  patroness  of 
mine,"  he  refers  to.  Cordelia  Marshall,  a  friend  of  his 
wife's,  he  sets  down  as  "  a  prim,  affectionate,  but  rather 
puling,  weak,  and  sentimental  elderly  young  lady."  Mrs. 
Buller,  who  had  been  considerate  of  him,  and  whom  he 
once  wrote  of  as  "  one  of  the  most  fascinating  women 
that  I  ever  knew,"  becomes,  on  things  going  a  little 
wrong,  one  of  those  "ancient  dames  of  quality,  that 
flaunting,  painting,  patching,  nervous,  vaporish,  jiggling, 
scolding  race  of  mortals."  He  speaks  of  "  the  honest, 
ever  self-sufficient  Harriet  "  Martineau.  "  Full  of  nigger 
fanaticisms."  Her  letters  to  his  wife  he  calls  "  scrubby- 
18 


274  CHARACTERISTICS. 

ish,"  "sawdustish,"  "  Socinian  didactic  little  notes."  Of 
Mrs.  Sarah  Austin,  who  did  so  much  to  introduce  the 
finest  t}TDes  of  the  German  mind  to  the  knowledge  and 
appreciation  of  English  readers,  and  who  as  a  translator 
has  been  declared  "  altogether  unrivaled  in  her  own  age 
and  country,"  he  takes  pains  to  record  his  disparaging 
estimate  :  " '  Mrs.  Austin,'  of  these  days,  so  popular  and 
almost  famous,  on  such  exiguous  basis  (translations  from 
the  German,  rather  poorly  some,  and  of  original  nothing 
that  rose  far  above  the  rank  of  twaddle)." 

Of  Emerson  he  always  spoke  well ;  and  no  wonder. 
There  is  abundant  authority  for  the  statement  that  for 
some  years  Carlyle  owed  even  his  bread  to  the  money 
secured  by  Emerson  for  his  earlier  books,  which  were 
published  in  Boston  before  they  were  printed  in  London. 
Later,  Emerson  sent  him  seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
the  profits  of  an  xAmerican  edition  of  his  French  Revo- 
lution, when  the  profits  of  the  English  edition,  to  use  his 
own  language,  had  been  "  absolutely  nothing." 

Arago's  popularity  as  a  lecturer  on  astronomy  was  a 
result  in  part,  it  is  said,  of  a  way  he  had,  before  he  com- 
menced one  of  his  lectures,  of  glancing  around  his  au- 
dience to  look  for  some  dull  aspirant  for  knowledge,  with 
a  low  forehead,  and  other  indications  that  he  was  among 
the  least  intelligent  among  his  hearers.  He  kept  his  eye 
fixed  upon  him,  he  addressed  only  him,  and  by  the  effect 
of  his  eloquence  and  powers  of  explanation  as  exhibited 
on  the  countenance  of  his  pupil  he  judged  of  their  influ- 
ence over  the  rest  of  his  audience.  When  he  remained 
unconvinced,  the  orator  tried  new  illustrations  till  the 
light  beamed  from  the  grateful  countenance.  Arago  had 
nothing  to  say  to  the  rest  of  his  audience.  The  orator 
and  his  pupil  were  the  Siamese  twins  united  by  an  intel- 
lectual ligament.  One  morning,  when  Arago  was  break- 
fasting with  his  family,  a  visitor  was  announced.  A  gen- 
tleman entered  —  his  pupil  of  the  preceding  evening,  — 


HABIT.  275 

who,  after  expressing  his  admiration  of  the  lecture,  thanked 
Arago  for  the  very  particular  attention  which  he  had  paid 
him  during  its  delivery.  *'You  had  the  appearance," 
said  he,  "  of  giving  the  lecture  only  to  me." 

In  the  midst  of  heavy  professional  work,  Joseph  Gri- 
maldi,  the  incomparable  clown,  found  time  and  energy  to 
pursue  a  most  fatiguing  hobby  —  the  collecting  of  insects. 
He  had  formed  (says  a  writer  in  Temple  Bar)  a  cabinet 
which  contained  four  thousand  specimens.  There  was  a 
kind  which  came  out  in  the  month  of  June,  called  the 
Dartford  blue,  for  which  he  was  particularly  eager.  His 
enthusiasm  in  this  pursuit  may  be  measured  by  the  sacri- 
fices he  made  for  it.  After  the  performance  was  over  at 
Sadler's  Wells  he  would  return  home  to  supper,  then 
about  midnight  start  to  walk  to  Dartford,  a  distance  of 
fifteen  miles.  He  would  arrive  there  about  five  in  the 
morning,  rest  and  breakfast  at  a  friend's  house,  then  go 
out  into  the  fields  ;  sometimes  a  search  for  hours  would 
be  rewarded  with  only  a  single  specimen.  At  one  o'clock 
he  would  begin  his  return  walk  to  London,  reach  there 
in  time  for  tea,  and  hurry  off  to  the  theatre.  On  the 
same  night,  after  the  performance,  he  would  again  walk 
to  Dartford,  re-commence  his  fly-hunt,  return  in  the  same 
manner  as  on  the  previous  day,  and  play  again,  without 
rest  or  sleep.  On  the  third  night  the  pantomime  was 
played  first,  which  enabled  him  to  quit  the  theatre  at  nine 
o'clock.  Seemingly  insensible  to  fatigue,  he  once  more 
started  on  his  fifteen  miles  walk,  and  this  time,  arriving 
at  his  journey's  end  by  one  in  the  morning,  was  able  to 
obtain  a  night's  rest  before  commencing  his  quest.  The 
next  day  being  Sunday,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  recruit- 
ing his  strength,  and  he  must  have  sorely  needed  it. 

About  the  only  companions  of  the  solitude  of  a  grand 
uncle  of  Lord  Byron  was  a  colony  of  crickets,  which  he 
is  said  to  have  amused  himself  with  rearing  and  feeding. 
Byron  used  to  say,  on  the  authority  of  old  servants  of  the 


276  CHARACTERISTICS. 

family,  that  on  the  day  of  their  patron's  death  these 
crickets  all  left  the  house  simultaneously,  and  in  such 
numbers  that  it  was  impossible  to  cross  the  hall  without 
treading  on  them. 

Charles  Waterton,  author  of  that  attractive  book,  Wan- 
derings in  South  America,  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-three. 
During  many  years  of  travel  in  wild  countries,  he  accus- 
tomed himself  to  endure  every  thing ;  and  for  many  years 
before  his  death  "  lived  in  a  room  at  the  top  of  his 
house,  which  had  neither  bed  nor  carpet ;  he  slept  on 
the  floor  in  a  blanket,  with  an  oak  log  for  a  pillow.  He 
built  a  wall  all  round  his  park  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
acres,  ranging  from  eight  to  sixteen  feet  in  height,  and 
modified  all  within  to  the  use  of  birds,  caring  much  more 
for  their  comfort  than  his  own.  His  trees  he  watched 
and  loved  as  much  as  his  birds.  It  was  a  favorite  habit 
of  his  to  sit  amongst  their  highest  branches,  watching 
birds,  and  reading  Horace  or  Virgil,  even  after  he  was 
eighty ;  and  he  often  astonished  visitors  at  the  Hall  by 
inviting  them  in  perfect  good  faith  to  accompany  him. 
He  had  himself,  in  his  early  manhood,  twice  climbed  to 
the  top  of  the  cross  on  St.  Peter's  —  once  to  leave  his 
glove  on  the  top  of  the  lightning  conductor,  and  again  at 
the  pope's  desire  (no  workman  in  Rome  being  willing  to 
risk  his  neck  in  the  operation)  to  take  it  off  again  —  so 
could  not  understand  losing  one's  head  in  tree -climb- 
ing." 

There  are  some  very  curious  things  in  Charles  Math- 
ews' Memoirs  about  old  Tate  Wilkinson,  the  famous 
stage  manager.  He  was,  or  rather  had  been,  says  the 
comedian,  a  great  lover  of  good  living ;  his  table,  even 
after  he  was  debarred  any  participation  in  its  luxuries, 
was  elegantly  and  liberally  supplied,  and  his  house  the 
seat  of  hospitality.  His  appetite  had  long  forsaken  him, 
and  he  was  very  capricious  in  his  tastes;-  liking  to  be  sur- 
prised into  a  desire  for  sometliing  uncommon  and  unex- 


HABIT.  277 

pected.  It  was  his  custom  to  sprinkle  about  his  room, 
between  his  papers  and  behind  his  books,  some  ratafia 
cakes,  or  any  other  little  delicacies  of  the  kind  not  liable 
to  be  spoiled  by  keeping,  in  order  to  detect  them  when 
he  was  not  thinking  of  such  a  thing.  Mr.  Mathews  more 
than  once  saw  the  effect  of  this  contrivance  —  the  old 
gentleman,  upon  the  discovery,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  here 's 
a  cake  !  "  as  if  its  being  there  was  a  matter  of  wonder  to 
him  ;  he  would  then  nibble  it  with  childish  avidity,  after 
having  resisted  all  his  wife's  attempts  to  invite  his  ap- 
petite, by  proposing  all  sorts  of  delicacies. 

"  There  was  a  boy  in  my  class  at  school,"  said  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  "  who  stood  always  at  the  top,  nor  could  I 
with  all  my  efforts  supplant  him.  Day  came  after  day, 
and  still  he  always  kept  the  place,  do  what  I  could;  till 
at  length  I  observed  that  when  a  question  was  answered 
he  always  fumbled  with  his  fingers  at  a  particular  button 
on  the  lower  part  of  his  waistcoat.  To  remove  it,  there- 
fore, became  expedient  in  my  eyes  ;  and,  in  an  evil  hour, 
it  was  removed  with  a  knife.  When  the  boy  was  again 
questioned,  -he  felt  again  for  the  button,  but  it  was  not  to 
be  found.  In  his  distress  he  looked  down  for  it ;  it  was 
to  be  seen  no  more  than  to  be  felt.  He  stood  confounded, 
and  I  took  possession  of  his  place  ;  nor  did  he  ever  re- 
cover it,  nor  ever,  I  believe,  suspect  who  was  the  author 
of  his  wrong.  Often,  in  after  life,  has  the  sight  of  him 
smote  me  as  I  passed  by  him,  and  often  have  I  resolved 
to  make  him  some  reparation,  but  it  ended  in  good  reso- 
lutions. Though  I  never  renewed  my  acquaintance  with 
him,  I  often  saw  him,  for  he  filled  some  inferior  office 
in  one  of  the  courts  of  law  at  Edinburgh.  Poor  fellow  : 
I  believe  he  is  dead-;  he  took  early  to  drinking." 

"  In  the  beginning  of  my  translating  the  Iliad,"  said 
Pope  to  Spence,  "  I  wished  any  body  would  hang  me,  a 
hundred  times.  It  sat  so  heavily  on  my  mind  at  first, 
that  I  often  used  to  dream  of  it,  and  do  sometimes  still. 


278  CHARACTERISTICS. 

When  I  fell  into  the  method  of  translating  thirty  or  forty 
verses  before  I  got  up,  and  piddled  with  it  the  rest  of 
the  morning,  it  went  on  easy  enough ;  and  when  I  was 
thoroughly  got  into  the  way  of  it,  I  did  the  rest  with 
pleasure." 

Thoreau,  in  his  Walden,  discoursing  of  habitual  and 
constitutional  vices,  speaks  of  some  Spanish  hides  he 
had  seen,  with  the  tails  still  preserving  their  twist  and 
the  angle  of  elevation  they  had  when  the  oxen  that  wore 
them  were  careering  over  the  pampas  of  the  Spanish 
main,  —  a  type  of  all  obstinacy,  and  evincing  how  almost 
hopeless  and  incurable  are  all  such  vices.  "  I  confess," 
he  says,  "  that  practically  speaking,  when  I  have  learned 
a  man's  real  disposition,  I  have  no  hopes  of  changing  it 
for  the  better  or  worse  in  this  state  of  existence.  As  the 
Orientals  say,  *  a  cur's  tail  may  be  warmed,  and  pressed, 
and  bound  round  with  ligatures,  and  after  a  twelve  years' 
labor  bestowed  upon  it,  still  it  will  retain  its  natural 
form.' " 

One  cannot  bear,  said  Lamb,  to  pay  for  articles  he 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  getting  for  nothing.  "When 
Adam  laid  out  his  first  penny  upon  nonpareils  at  some 
stall  in  Mesopotamia,  I  think  it  went  hard  with  him,  re- 
flecting upon  his  old  goodly  orchard,  where  he  had  so 
many  for  nothing."  - 

Southey's  anecdote  of  Master  Jackson  illustrates,  and 
to  some  extent  accounts  for,  an  easy  habit  that  good  peo- 
ple sometimes  fall  into,  that  is  much  complained  of  by 
the  parsons.  "Well,  Master  Jackson,"  said  his  minis- 
ter, walking  homeward  after  service,  with  an  industrious 
laborer,  who  was  a  constant  attendant,  —  "  well.  Master 
Jackson,  Sunday  must  be  a  blessed  day  of  rest  for  you, 
who  work  hard  all  the  week.  And  you  make  good  use  of 
the  day;  for  you  are  always  to  be  seen  at  church."  "Aye, 
sir,"  replied  Jackson,  "it  is,  indeed,  a  blessed  day;  I 
works  hard  enough  all  the  week ;  and  then  I  comes  to 


HABIT.  279 

church  o*  Sundays,  and  sets  me  down,  and  lays  my  legs 
up,  and  thinks  o'  nothing." 

The  effect  of  habit  in  self-discipline  is  shown  in  an  in- 
teresting chapter  from  Goethe's  Autobiography.  "  My 
health,"  says  the  poet,  "  was  tolerably  good ;  but  a  nerv- 
ous irritability  rendered  me  unable  to  endure  the  noise 
and  sight  of  infirmities  and  sufferings.  I  could  not  stand 
on  an  elevation  and  look  downwards  without  feeling  a 
vertigo.  I  accustomed  myself  to  noise  by  taking  my  sta- 
tion, at  night,  near  the  trumpets  that  sounded  the  retreat, 
at  the  risk  of  having  my  tympanum  cracked  by  their  loud 
braying.  To  cure  myself  of  giddiness,  I  often  ascended 
to  the  top  of  the  Minster  tower  alone.  I  used  to  remain 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  sitting  on  the  stairs  before  I  durst 
venture  out.  I  then  advanced  on  a  small  platform, 
scarcely  an  ell  square,  without  any  rail  or  support.  Be- 
fore me  was  an  immense  extent  of  country,  whilst  the 
objects  nearest  to  the  Minster  concealed  from  my  sight 
the  church  and  the  monument  on  which  I  was  perched. 
I  was  precisely  in  the  situation  of  a  man  launched  into 
mid- air  in  a  balloon.  I  repeated  the  experiment  of  this 
painful  situation,  until  at  length  it  gave  me  no  sensation 
at  all.  Of  the  utility  of  these  trials  I  was  afterward  fully 
sensible,  when  the  study  of  geology  led  me  to  traverse 
mountains.  When  I  had  to  visit  great  buildings,  I  could 
stand  with  the  workmen  upon  the  scaffolds  on  the  roofs. 
These  habits  were  no  less  useful  to  me  at  Rome,  where 
I  wished  to  , examine  the  celebrated  monuments  of  that 
city  closely.  In  studying  anatomy,  I  learned  to  endure 
the  sight  of  those  objects  which  at  first  shocked  me  most. 
I  attended  a  course  of  clinical  lectures,  with  the  twofold 
intention  of  gaining  an  increase  of  knowledge,  and  of 
freeing  myself  of  all  pusillanimous  repugnance.  On  the 
whole,  I  succeeded  in  fortifying  myself  against  all  those 
impressions  of  the  senses  and  imagination  which  disturb 
the  tranquillity  of  the  soul." 


280  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Although  Haller  surpassed  his  contemporaries  in 
anatomy,  and  published  several  important  anatomical 
works,  he  was  troubled  at  the  outset  with  a  horror  of  dis- 
section beyond  what  is  usual  with  the  inexperienced,  and 
it  was  only,  it  is  stated,  by  firm  discipline  that  he  became 
an  anatomist  at  all. 

"  Habit,  in  the  great  majority  of  things,"  says  the  grave 
and  reverend  John  Foster,  "  is  a  greater  plague  than  ever 
afflicted  Egypt ;  in  religious  character,  it  is  a  grand  felic- 
ity. The  devout  man  exults  in  the  indications  of  his 
being  fixed  and  irretrievable.  He  feels  .this  confirmed 
habit  as  the  grasp  of  the  hand  of  God,  which  will  never 
let  him  go.  From  this  advanced  state  he  looks  with  firm- 
ness and  joy  on  futurity,  and  says,  I  carry  the  eternal 
mark  upon  me  that  I  belong  to  God ;  I  am  free  of  the 
universe  ;  and  I  am  ready  to  go  to  any  world  to  which 
He  shall  please  to  transmit  me,  certain  that  everywhere, 
in  height  or  depth,  He  will  acknowledge  me  forever." 


XL 

THE   HABIT   OF   DETRACTION. 

"Yes;  but  " —  These  two  little  words,  in  this  close 
connection  —  divided  only  by  a  semicolon  —  represent,  in 
essence,  it  must  be  admitted,  a  very  large  part  of  all  the 
conversation  of  all  mankind.  We  assent,  with  qualifica- 
tion j  and  the  qualification,  unhappily,  too  often  ends  the 
discussion.  The  shadows  finish  the  picture.  The  habit 
we  all  deplore,  and  nearly  all  possess.  Disparagement, 
detraction,  —  call  it  what  you  may,  —  that  we  are  quick 
to  condemn  in  others,  we  are  very  slow  to  correct  in  our- 
selves. We  see  it,  we  talk  about  it,  we  despise  it,  we 
blush  at  it,  albeit  we  persist  in  it.  The  mischief  goes 
for  nothing,  in  effect,  and  we  seem  to  look  upon  it  as  a 
part  of  life,  inevitable  and  indispensable,  to  be  condemned 
or  indulged,  as  it  disagrees  or  accords  with  our  feelings 
or  interests.  Nature  —  human  nature  in  this  instance  — 
goes  her  own  way,  and  man  is  not  to  be  made  over  in 
haste ;  therefore,  as  a  study,  merely,  this  article  is  in- 
tended, without  the  slightest  conception  of  reforming  vio- 
lently any  human  being.  The  Tigris  flows  through  Bag- 
dad when  the  caliphs  are  all  dead. 

"  God,"  says  Heine,  "  has  given  us  tongues,  that  we 
may  say  pleasant  things  to  our  friends,  and  bitter  truths 
of  our  enemies."  "  I  have,"  he  says,  "  the  most  peacea- 
ble disposition.  My  desires  are  a  modest  cottage  with 
thatched  roof  —  but  a  good  bed,  good  fare,  fresh  milk 
and  butter,  flowers  by  my  window,  and  a  few  fine  trees 
before  the  door.  And  if  the  Lord  wished  to  fill  my  cup 
of  happiness,  he  would  grant  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing 


282  .  CHARACTERISTICS. 

some  six  or  seven  of  my  enemies  hanged  on  those  trees. 
With  a  heart  moved  to  pity,  I  would,  before  their  death, 
forgive  the  injury  they  had  done  me  during  their  hves. 
Yes,  we  ought  to  forgive  our  enemies  —  but  not  until 
they  are  hanged."  "As  far  as  I  can  understand  the  Mov- 
ing our  enemies,' "  said  Poe,  "  it  implies  the  hating  our 
friends."  When  Marshal  Narvaez  was  on  his  death-bed, 
his  confessor  asked  him  if  he  freely  forgave  all  his  ene- 
mies. "  I  have  no  enemies,"  replied  the  dying  marshal, 
proudly.  "  Every  one  must  have  made  enemies  in  the 
course  of  his  life,"  suggested  the  priest,  mildly.  "  Oh, 
of  course,"  replied  the  marshal ;  "  I  have  had  a  gi*eat 
number  of  enemies  in  my  time,  but  I  have  none  now.  I 
have  had  them  all  shot !"  You  recollect  the  surgeon,  to 
whom  Voltaire  was  once  compared,  who  not  only  attended 
a  friend  carefully  during  a  last  illness,  but  dissected  him. 
You  remember  also  the  New  Zealander  who  was  asked 
whether  he  loved  a  missionary  who  had  been  laboring 
for  his  soul  and  those  of  his  countrymen.  "  To  be  sure 
I  loved  him.  Why,  I  ate  a  piece  of  him  for  my  breakfast 
this  morning ! " 

"  If  we  quarreled,"  says  Thackeray,  "  with  all  the  peo- 
ple who  abuse  us  behind  our  backs,  and  began  to  tear 
their  eyes  out  as  soon  as  we  set  ours  on  them,  what  a 
life  it  would  be,  and  when  should  we  have  any  quiet? 
Backbiting  is  all  fair  in  society.  Abuse  me,  and  I  will 
abuse  you ;  but  let  us  be  friends  when  we  meet.  Have 
we  not  all  entered  a  dozen  rooms,  and  been  sure,  from 
the  countenances  of  the  amiable  persons  present,  that 
they  had  been  discussing  our  little  peculiarities,  perhaps 
as  we  were  on  the  stairs  ?  Was  our  visit,  therefore,  the 
less  agreeable  .?  Did  we  quarrel  and  say  hard  words  to 
one  another's  faces  ?  No  — .we  wait  until  some  of  our 
dear  friends  take  their  leave,  and  then  comes  our  turn. 
My  back  is  at  my  neighbor's  service  ;  as  soon  as  that  is 
turned  let  him  make  what  faces  he  thinks  proper :  but 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  283 

when  we  meet  we  grin  and  shake  hands  like  well-bred 
folk,  to  whom  clean  linen  is  not  more  necessary  than  a 
clean,  sweet-looking  countenance,  and  a. nicely  gotten  up 
smile  for  company." 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  said  of  the  Duchess  of 
Marlborough,  "  We  continue  to  see  one  another  like  two 
persons  who  are  resolved  to  hate  with  civility."  Madame 
de  Maintenon  and  Madame  de  Montespan  met  in  public, 
talked  with  vivacity,  and,  to  those  who  judged  only  by 
appearances,  seemed  excellent  friends.  Once  when  they 
had  to  make  a  journey  in  the  same  carriage,  Madame  de 
Montespan  said,  "  Let  us  talk  as  if  there  were  no  differ- 
ence between  us,  but  on  condition  that  we  resume  our 
hostility  when  we  return." 

The  delightful  deference  which  society  obliges  us  to 
pay  to  those  who  hate  us,  is  very  much  like  returning 
thanks  for  injuries  —  a  refinement  in  tyranny  frequently 
practiced  by  the  worst  of  the  Roman  emperors.  Seneca 
informs  us  that  Caligula  was  thanked  by  those  whose 
children  had  been  put  to  death,  and  whose  property  had 
been  confiscated.  A  person  who  had  grown  old  in  his 
attendance  on  kings,  was  asked  how  he  had  attained  a 
thing  so  uncommon  in  courts  as  old  age  ?  It  was,  replied 
he,  by  receiving  injuries  and  returning  thanks.  It  was 
on  the  same  principle,  we  suppose,  that  Louis  Philippe, 
unlike  the  great  Napoleon,  saw  all  the  malicious  carica- 
tures that  were  made  of  himself,  and  laughed  at  them 
lustily.  The  young  Prince  Imperial,  alluding  to  the  visit 
of  Count  Bismarck  to  Napoleon  III.  at  Plombieres,  said, 
"  They  let  me  laugh  as  much  as  I  like  ;  but  what  I  don't 
like  is  to  be  obliged  to  smile  and  look  pleasant  to  men 
who  I  know  are  my  father's  enemies." 

We  are  all  sore,  deficient,  and  vulnerable ;  and  by  crit- 
icism, ridicule,  and  detraction,  we  supply  ourselves  with 
emollients,  compensations,  and  weapons.  Man,  too,  being 
a  laughing  animal,  soon  finds  that  the  most  laughable 


284  CHARACTERISTICS. 

object  in  creation  is  himself.  He  is  continually  blunder' 
ing  and  stumbling,  and  he  only  learns  to  keep  his  feet 
by  falling.  Morally  as  well  as  physically.  If  an  invis- 
ible knocking  machine  tapped  each  one  of  us  on  the 
head  the  instant  and  every  time  we  thought  evil  or  did 
wrong,  what  a  getting  up  there  would  be !  What  a  scene 
the  street  would  present !  To  the  church  or  to  the  mar- 
ket, the  same.  Verily,  the  world  laughs  ;  —  with  us,  and 
then  at  us. 

Johnson  uttered  a  conspicuously  generous  thing  of  his 
friend  Sir  Joshua,  when  he  said,  "  Reynolds,  sir,  is  the 
most  invulnerable  man  I  know;  the  man  with  whom,  if  you 
should  quarrel,  you  would  find  the  most  difficulty  how  to 
abuse."  "  In  faults,"  said  Goethe,  "  men  are  much  alike ; 
in  good  qualities  they  differ."  We  readily  perceive  the 
faults  of  others  by  being  so  familiar  with  our  own.  Their 
virtues  are  not  so  visible  to  us,  for  the  reason  that  our 
own  are  not  so  distinct  to  ourselves.  The  real  good  that 
is  in  us  is  unconscious,  almost  occult,  and  blushes  when 
it  is  discovered. 

It  is  only  the  very  few,  we  hope,  who,  by  what  Haw- 
thorne calls  the  "  alchemy  of  quiet  malice,"  concoct  a 
subtle  poison  from  the  ordinary  experiences  of  life.  For 
the  fun  of  the  thing,  more  than  for  the  mischief  of  it,  the 
world  prattles  on.  Sometimes  it  is  cruel ;  but  it  is  the 
cruelty  of  the  thoughtless  boy.  It  does  not  much  con- 
cern itself  about  justice  or  injustice.  To  the  sources  it 
does  not  much  care  to  go  if  it  could.  It  prefers  to  see 
with  its  eyes  rather  than  with  its  head,  —  by  its  senses 
rather  than  by  its  reason.  It  sees  outwardly,  and  talks 
for  recreation  —  irresponsibly,  generally,  and  without  re- 
flection. "As  for  good  sense,"  said  Gil  Bias,  "if  an  angel 
from  heaven  were  to  whisper  wisdom  in  one  ear,  and 
your  cousin  her  mortal  chit-chat  in  the  other,  I  am  afraid 
the  angel  might  whistle  for  an  audience." 

Boswell  was  thought  by  some  of  his  contemporaries 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  285 

to  be  a  little  dangerous ;  but  for  his  love  of  personali- 
ties the  world  would  not  have  had  its  best  biography. 
Wiser  men  than  himself  hated  and  feared  him.  "  A 
snapper  up  of  unconsidered  trifles,"  he  might  victimize 
them.  They  did  not  know  that  the  wise  eye  of  Johnson 
revised  all  that  he  recorded.  It  is  said  that  whenever 
he  came  into  a  company  where  Horace  Walpole  was,  Wal- 
pole  would  throw  back  his  head,  purse  up  his  mouth  very 
significantly,  and  not  speak  a  word  while  Boswell  re- 
mained. 

Thiers'  father  is  described  as  a  queer,  bustling,  talka- 
tive little  gentleman,  and  it  is  suggested  that  there  must 
have  been  something  mischievous  in  his  talk,  or  so  much 
pains  would  not  have  been  taken  by  his  eminent  son  to 
keep  him  from  his  wedding.  To  insure  the  non-appear- 
ance of  his  troublesome  parent  at  the  wedding,  the  minis- 
ter for  three  weeks  previously  hired  all  the  places  in  the 
stage-coaches  running  from  Carpentras  (where  he  lived) 
and  other  towns  of  the  Vaucluse  to  Lyons. 

Is  it  true,  as  they  say,  that  it  is  the  bad-tempered 
people  who  are  most  apt  to  take  to  themselves  and  mis- 
construe whatever  is  loosely  said  by  the  tongue  of  the 
world,  as  the  wasp  is  said  to  take  up  and  convert  all  it 
can  light  upon  into  poison  ?  The  illusory  fancies  of  bad- 
tempered  people  have  been  made  the  subject  of  much 
subtle  observation  and  analysis  by  mental  physiologists. 
It  has  been  observed  that  they  honestly  believe  that  they 
are  the  most  ill-used  persons  on  the  earth,  when  they  are 
surrounded  only  by  kindly  regard  and  forbearing  indul- 
gence. They  honestly  believe  that  all  the  world  is  devot- 
ing itself  exclusively  to  a  discussion  of  them,  when,  it 
may  be,  the  world,  if  it  thinks  or  speaks  of  them  at  all, 
it  is  only  in  a  general  way,  and  for  the  general  good. 
An  English  judge  once  sentenced  a  prisoner :  "  I  sen- 
tence you,"  he  said,  "  to  die ;  not  at  all  because  you 
have  robbed  this  house,  but  in  order  that  other  people 


286  CHARACTERISTICS. 

may  not  rob  other  houses  in  future."  The  tongue  is 
the  universal  poHceman.  It  sometimes  makes  mistakes, 
and  sometimes  it  is  cruel.  Good-nature  is  expected  to 
forgive  and  submit.     Virtue  is  its  own  reward. 

It  must  be  that  a  good  deal  of  the  evil-speaking  of  the 
world  is  for  emphasis  or  for  self-relief.  Longinus,  in  his 
Discourse  of  the  Sublime,  commends  swearing,  for  the 
reason  that,  now  and  then,  on  proper  occasions,  it  adds 
to  the  grandeur  and  effectiveness  of  oratory.  Old  Fuseli, 
the  painter,  once  said  to  his  wife,  when  he  found  her  in 
a  tempestuous  temper,  *'  Madam,  do  swear  a  little  ;  you 
do  not  know  how  much^ood  it  would  do  you." 

Can  it  be  possible  that  a  pretty  general  abuse  of  one's 
acquaintances  was  ever  intended  to  limit  one's  friends  ? 
as  Lady  Chantrey  went  into  the  studio  with  a  hammer, 
and  knocked  off  the  noses  of  many  completed  busts,  so 
that  they  might  not  be  too  common  —  a  singular  atten- 
tion, it  was  thought,  to  her  departed  husband. 

Intentionally  or  not,  many  a  one's  friends  have  been 
wofully  reduced  by  the  process  of  general  offense.  And 
the  dear  five  hundred  could  not  be  recovered,  when  lost 
in  that  sweeping  and  unreasonable  way.  The  offender 
and  the  offense  had  made  it  impossible.  "  Since  I 
wronged  you,  I  have  never  liked  you,"  is  a  proverb. 
"  The  offender  never  pardons,"  is  another.  "  No  prov- 
erb is  absolutely  true,"  says  a  writer  upon  this  subject ; 
"but  all  experience  of  life  shows  that  it  is  the  one 
who  gives  the  offense,  with  whom  it  is  the  most  difficult 
to  make  up.  The  reason  is  obvious.  The  offending  man 
is  secretly  very  angry  with  himself,  and  he  has  to  forgive 
both  you  and  himself  —  himself  for  having  been  unreas- 
onable, and  you  for  having  been  in  the  way  when  he  was 
unreasonable." 

You  remember  Wycherley's  humorous  excuse  for  de- 
traction in  The  Plain  Dealer :  "  Speaking  well  of  all 
mankind  is  the  worst  kind  of  detraction ;  for  it  takes 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  28/ 

away  the  reputation  of  the  few  good  men  in  the  world  by 
making  all  alike."  Suggesting  Swift's  satirical  allusion 
to  lying.  He  said  that  universal  as  was  the  practice  of 
lying,  and  easy  as  it  seemed,  he  did  not  remember  to  have 
heard  three  good  lies  in  all  his  life. 

A  favorite  amusement  of  boys  is  in  marking  out  letters 
on  signboards  and  in  handbills  —  to  produce  what  may 
be  called  wit  by  obliteration.  A  like  effort  it  would  seem 
is  sometimes  made  to  rub  away  traits  of  character,  and 
laugh  over  the  result  of  the  prodigious  performance.  If 
such  puerile  wit  sometimes  resulted  as  the  boys'  experi- 
ence with  Professor  John  Stuart  Blackie,  there  would  per- 
haps be  less  of  it.  For  thirty-five  years  he  occupied  the 
Greek  chair  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Once,  we 
are  told,  on  the  first  day  of  the  college  year  he  posted  on 
the  class-room  door  a  notice  that  Professor  Blackie  would 
meet  his  classes  on  the  4th  instant  at  the  usual  hours.  A 
joker  among  the  students  erased  the  "  c  "  in  "  classes," 
thus  announcing  that  the  Professor  would  "meet  his 
lasses,"  etc.  As  class  time  drew  near  the  young  men 
gathered  about  to  "  see  what  Blackie  would  do."  The 
Professor  came,  glanced  at  the  card,  touched  it  with  a 
pencil,  and  passed  in  to  his  desk,  with  a  grim  smile  over- 
spreading his  features.  And  the  students  followed  him 
into  the  room,  with  mingled  emotions  of  jollity  and  dis- 
may, as  they  saw  that  his  pencil  stroke  had  obliterated 
the  "  1."  Recalling  an  incident  they  tell  of  the  eminent 
Dr.  Whewell,  who  was  a  living  cyclopsedia.  On  one  occa- 
sion some  of  his  companions  formed  a  conspiracy  to  trap 
him.  A  number  of  them  read  up  on  Chinese  music  from 
articles  in  old  reviews.  Then  when  they  were  ready  they 
fired  off  their  recondite  knowledge  on  the  state  of  mu- 
sic in  China.  For  a  while  Dr.  Whewell  remained  si- 
lent, and  the  conspirators  were  happy  in  thinking  they 
had  caught  the  great  scholar  at  last.  When,  however, 
they  had  about  emptied  themselves  of  their  curious  lore, 


288  CHARACTERISTICS. 

he  remarked,  "  I  was  imperfectly,  and  to  some  extent  in- 
correctly, informed  regarding  Chinese  music  when  I  wrote 
the  articles  from  which  you  have  drawn  your  informa- 
tion." 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Macaulay,  "  at  the  violence 
of  the  hatred  which  Socrates  had  provoked.  He  had, 
evidently,  a  thorough  love  for  making  men  look  small. 
There  was  a  meek  maliciousness  about  him  which  gave 
wounds  such  as  must  have  smarted  long,  and  his  com- 
mand of  temper  was  more  provoking  than  noisy  triumph 
and  insolence  would  have  been." 

The  man  who  delights  in  giving  you  full  credit  for 
every  excellence  you  possess,  rather  than  in  belittling  you 
by  an  exaggeration  of  your  foibles,  is  a  treasure  ;  and  the 
protection  you  feel  in  the  neighborhood  of  such  a  man, 
law  could  not  give  you.  He  shuts  your  gate,  he  protects 
your  child,  he  guards  your  reputation ;  he  does  the  fair 
and  generous  thing.  If  men  were  weighed  and  not 
counted,  such  a  man  would  overbalance  many  of  poorer 
material.  Themistocles,  having  a  farm  to  sell,  bid  the 
crier  proclaim  also  that  it  had  a  good  neighbor. 

"  Every  one  knows,"  says  Goethe,  "  that  there  is  no 
readier  way  to  get  rid  of  the  consciousness  of  our  own 
faults,  than  to  busy  ourselves  about  those  of  other  people. 
This  is  a  method  much  in  vogue  in  the  best  of  company. 
But  nothing  gives  us  so  strong  a  sense  of  our  independ- 
ence, or  makes  us  so  important  in  our  own  eyes,  as  the 
censure  of  our  superiors  and  of  the  great  in  this  world." 
"  If  we  were  faultless,"  says  Fenelon,  "  we  should  not  be 
so  much  annoyed  by  the  defects  of  those  with  whom  we 
associate.  If  we  were  to  acknowledge  honestly  that  we 
have  not  virtue  enough  to  bear  patiently  with  our  neigh- 
bors' weaknesses,  we  should  show  our  own  imperfection, 
and  this  alarms  our  vanity.  We  therefore  make  our 
weakness  pass  for  strength,  elevate  it  to  a  virtue  and  call 
it  zeal ;  an  imaginary  and  often  hypocritical  zeal.     For  is 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  289 

it' not  surprising  to  see  how  tranquil  we  are  about  the 
errors  of  others  wheii  they  do  not  trouble  us,  and  how 
soon  this  wonderful  zeal  kindles  against  those  who  excite 
our  jealousy,  or  weary  our  patience  ?  "  "  We  reprove  our 
friends'  faults,"  said  Wycherley,  "  more  out  of  pride  than 
love  or  charity  ;  not  so  much  to  correct  them  as  to  make 
them  believe  we  are  ourselves  without  them." 

"  It  is  a  very  ordinary  and  common  thing  amongst 
men,"  says  Rabelais,  in  his  quaint  way,  "  to  conceive,  fore- 
see, know,  and  presage  the  misfortunes,  bad  luck,  or  dis- 
aster of  another ;  but  to  have  the  understanding,  provi- 
dence, knowledge,  and  prediction  of  a  man's  own  mishaps, 
is  very  scarce,  and  rare  to  be  found  anywhere.  This  is 
exceeding  judiciously  and  prudently  deciphered  by  ^Esop 
in  his  apologues,  who  there  affirmeth,  that  every  man  in 
the  world  carrieth  about  his  neck  a  wallet,  in  the  forebag 
whereof  is  contained  the  faults  and  mischances  of  others, 
always  exposed  to  his  view  and  knowledge ;  and  in  the 
other  scrip  thereof,  which  hangs  behind,  is  kept  the  bear- 
er's proper  transgressions,  and  inauspicious  adventures, 
at  no  time  seen  by  him,  nor  thought  upon,  unless  he  be  a 
person  that  hath  a  favorable  aspect  from  the  heavens." 

"  It  is  a  certain  sign  of  an  ill  heart,"  says  Steele,  in  one 
of  his  Spectators,  "  to  be  inclined  to  defamation.  They 
who  are  harmless  and  innocent  can  have  no  gratification 
that  way ;  but  it  ever  arises  from  a  neglect  of  what  is 
laudable  in  a  man's  self,  and  an  impatience  in  seeing  it  in 
another.  ...  A  lady  the  other  day  at  a  visit,  being  at- 
tacked somewhat  rudely  by  one  whose  own  character  had 
been  very  rudely  treated,  answered  a  great  deal  of  heat 
and  intemperance  by  very  calmly  remarking,  *Good 
madam,  spare  me,  who  am  none  of  your  match ;  I  speak 
ill  of  nobody,  and  it  is  a  new  thing  to  me  to  be  spoken 
ill  of.'  " 

One  evening  at  a  convivial  gathering  in  Paris,  where  all 
the  guests  did  not  happen  to  be  of  the  same  political 
19 


290  CHARACTERISTICS. 

opinions,  as  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  one  said  to  the  com- 
pany :  "  Gentlemen,  I  should,  before  we  begin  dinner, 
make  a  little  explanation  of  one  of  my  peculiarities.  It 
sometimes  happens  that  when  I  have  a  little  wine  on 
board  I  take  it  into  my  head  to  gibe  people  who  are  not 
of  my  way  of  thinking  in  politics.  I  assure  you  that  I 
mean  nothing  serious  by  such  an  action,  and  that  if  I 
should  appear  to  be  rude  you  will  make  a  little  allowance 
and  not  lay  it  to  my  account."  As  he  seated  himself, 
another  guest,  a  man  seven  feet  high,  and  with  a  hand 
and  an  arm  in  proportion,  arose  and  said  as  courteously : 
"  Gentlemen,  I  too  should  make  a  little  explanation  of 
one  of  my  peculiarities.  It  sometimes  happens  that  when 
I  have  a  little  wine  on  board  and  some  one  begins  to  gibe 
me  for  my  way  of  thinking  in  politics  I  take  it  into  my 
head  to  wring  his  neck  or  pitch  him  out  of  a  second  story 
window.  I  assure  you  that  I  mean  nothing  serious  by 
such  an  action,  and  that  if  I  should  appear  to  be  rude 
you  will  make  a  little  allowance,  and  not  lay  it  to  my  ac- 
count." Not  a  word  of  politics  was  spoken  at  the  table 
that  evening,  and  all  went  merry  as  a  dinner  should. 

A  young  lady,  a  member  of  Dr.  Lathrop's  church,  went 
on  a  visit  to  a  neighboring  town,  and  while  there  attended 
a  party  and  danced.  Tidings  of  her  sin  reached  home 
before  her.  On  her  return  she  was  visited  and  called  to 
most  severe  account  for  the  disgrace  she  had  thus 
brought  upon  herself  and  upon  the  church,  and  which  had 
been  found  out,  notwithstanding  it  had  been  done  among 
strangers.  One  staid  maiden  was  especially  severe  in  her 
rebukes,  and  made  the  poor  girl  feel  very  bad.  "  What 
shall  I  do  ? "  she  asked.  "  You  had  better  go  and  see 
Dr.  Lathrop."  She  did  go,  and  told  him  all  about  it. 
"  And  so,  my  dear,  you  went  to  the  party,  and  danced, 
did  you  ? "  he  said.  "  Yes,  sir."  "  And  did  you  have  a 
good  time?"  "  Yes,  sir."  "  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it,  and  I 
hope  you  will  go  again,  and  enjoy  yourself.     And  now  I 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION  29 1 

want  you  to  tell  me  the  name  of  the  woman  who  has  been 
making  you  all  this  trouble."  She  told  him.  "Go  to 
that  woman,  and  tell  her  from  me  that,  if  she  wants  to 
get  to  heaven,  she  had  better  make  more  use  of  her  feet, 
and  less  of  her  tongue." 

People,  it  has  been  very  truly  remarked,  are  ever  on 
the  watch  to  catch  their  fellows  tripping ;  it  is  such  com- 
fort to  find,  or  to  fancy,  one'sself  better  than  one's  neigh- 
bors j  and  the  more  favored  by  fortune  the  delinquent  is, 
the  sweeter  is  the  pharisaical  consolation  we  extract  out 
of  his  aberrations. 

Our  own  defects  are  apt  to  make  us  extremely  acute  in 
discovering  the  defects  of  others,  as  an  infirmity  some- 
times seems  to  supply  a  new  sense.  Not  long  since  there 
was  living  in  the  county  of  York,  England,  a  gentleman, 
who,  though  totally  blind,  was  an  expert  archer.  His 
sense  of  hearing  was  so  keen,  that  when  a  boy  behind 
the  target  rang  a  bell,  the  blind  archer  knew  precisely 
how  to  aim  the  shaft. 

Once  on  a  time  a  woman  at  confession  told  the  priest 
that  she  had  been  guilty  of  slandering  her  neighbor.  The 
priest  gave  her  a  thistle,  and  told  her  to  go  and  scatter  it 
on  the  fields,  and  then  come  back.  On  her  return,  the 
priest  said,  "Go  now  and  gather  up  all  those  thistle- 
seeds."  When  she  declared  she  could  not,  he  said  to 
her,  "  Neither  can  you  gather  up  the  evil  words  you  have 
spoken." 

Some  one  has  said  that  those  who  utter  slander,  and 
those  who  believe  it,  ought  both  to  be  hanged,  one  by 
the  tongue,  the  other  by  the  ear. 

In  the  land  of  Satin,  Rabelais  saw  Hearsay,  "  a  dimin- 
utive, monstrous,  misshapen  old  fellow,"  who  "  kept  a 
school  of  vouching."  "  His  mouth  was  slit  up  to  his 
ears,  and  in  it  were  seven  tongues,  each  of  them  cleft 
into  seven  parts.  However,  he  chattered,  tattled,  and 
prated  with  all  the  seven  at  once,  of  different  matters, 


292  CHARACTERISTICS. 

and  in  divers  languages.  He  had  as  many  ears  all  over 
his  head,  and  the  rest  of  his  body,  as  Argus  formerly  had 
eyes  j  and  was  as  blind  as  a  beetle,  and  had  the  palsy  in  his 
legs.  About  him  stood  an  innumerable  number  of  men 
and  women,  gaping,  listening,  and  hearing  very  intently ; 
among  them  he  observed  some  who  strutted  like  crows  in 
a  gutter,  and  principally  a  very  handsome  bodied  man  in 
the  face,  who  held  them  a  map  of  the  world,  and  with 
little  aphorisms  compendiously  explained  every  thing  to 
them ;  so  that  those  men  of  happy  memories  grew  learned 
in  a  trice,  and  would  most  fluently  talk  with  you  of  a  world 
of  prodigious  things,  the  hundredth  part  of  which  would 
take  up  a  man's  whole  life  to  be  fully  known." 

It  has  been  noticed  in  Abyssinia  that  an  irreconcilable 
feud  rages  between  the  donkey  and  the  hyena.  "  I  have 
met  with  my  moral  antipodes,"  says  Lamb,  "  and  can  be- 
lieve the  story  of  two  persons  meeting  (who  never  saw 
one  another  before  in  their  lives)  and  instantly  fighting." 
Upon  one  occasion  Mr.  Webster  was  on  his  way  to  at- 
tend to  his  duties  in  Washington.  He  was  compelled  to 
proceed  at  night  by  stage  from  Baltimore.  He  had  no 
traveling  companions,  and  the  driver  had  .a  sort  of  felon- 
look,  which  produced  no  inconsiderable  alarm.  "  I  en- 
deavored to  tranquilize  myself,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  "  and 
had  partially  succeeded,  when  we  reached  the  woods  be- 
tween Bladensburg  and  Washington  (a  proper  scene  for 
murder  or  outrage),  and  here,  I  confess,  my  courage 
again  deserted  me.  Just  then  the  driver,  turning  to  me, 
w^ith  a  gruff  voice  asked  my  name.  I  gave  it  to  him. 
*  Where  are  you  going  ? '  said  he.  The  reply  was,  '  To 
Washington.  I  am  a  Senator.'  Upon  this,  the  driver 
seized  me  fer\^ently  by  the  hand,  and  exclaimed,  '  How 
glad  I  am.  I  have  been  trembling  in  my  seat  for  the  last 
hour ;  for,  when  I  looked  at  you,  I  took  you  to  be  a  high- 
wayman.' " 

Shelley  somehow  antagonized  his  neighbors ;  at  least, 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  293 

he  was  always  misunderstood  by  them  and  belied.  He 
was  said  to  be  keeping  a  seraglio  at  Marlow  ;  and  his 
friends  partook  of  the  scandal.  This  keeper  of  a  serag- 
lio, who,  in  fact,  was  extremely  difficult  to  please  in  such 
matters,  and  who  had  no  idea  of  love  unconnected  with 
sentiment,  passed  his  days  like  a  hermit.  We  have  it 
upon  the  authority  of  his  friend  Leigh  Hunt  that  he  rose 
early  in  the  morning,  walked  and  read  before  breakfast, 
took  that  meal  sparingly,  wrote  and  studied  the  greater 
part  of  the  morning,  walked  and  read  again,  dined  on 
vegetables  (for  he  took  neither  meat  nor  wine),  conversed 
with  his  friends  (to  whom  his  house  was  ever  open),  again 
walked  out,  and  usually  finished  with  reading  to  his  wife 
till  ten  o'clock,  when  he  went  to  bed.  This  was  his  daily 
existence.  Yet  the  word  "  seraglio  "  stuck  to  his  home 
like  an  epithet ;  and  you  know  what  an  epithet  is.  "  It 
is  by  epithets,"  said  Napoleon,  "  that  you  govern  man- 
kind." 

A  gentleman  gave  Thackeray  a  good  illustration  of  the 

philosophy  of  exaggeration.     Mr. was  once  behind 

the  scenes  at  the  opera  when  the  scene-shifters  were  pre- 
paring for  the  ballet.  Flora  was  to  sleep  under  a  bush, 
whereon  were  growing  a  number  of  roses,  and  amidst 
which  was  fluttering  a  gay  covey  of  butterflies.  In  size, 
the  roses  exceeded  the  most  expansive  sunflowers  ;  and 
the  butterflies  were  as  large  as  cocked  hats.  The  scene- 
shifters  explained  to  Mr. ,  who  asked  the  reason  why 

every  thing  was  so  magnified,  that  the  galleries  could 
never  see  the  objects  unless  they  were  enormously  exag- 
gerated. Thus  pitched  to  their  senses  and  apprehension, 
they  were  vehement  in  their  applauses,  and  the  spectacle 
was  triumphant.  Healthy  criticism  and  sound  judgment 
were  impossible,  as  they  always  are  to  the  excited  multi- 
tude. Froude,  in  his  sketch  of  Julius  Caesar,  speaks  of 
a  yell  which  rose  from  tens  of  thousands  of  throats  so 
piercing  that  it  was  *  said  a  crow  flying  over  the  Forum 


294  CHARACTERISTICS. 

dropped  dead  at  the  sound  of  it.  The  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton would  not  allow  the  fence  around  his  house,  which 
had  been  torn  down  by  the  excited  mob,  to  be  rebuilt, 
because  he  wanted  kept  before  him  the  mutability,  uncer- 
tainty, and  unreasonableness  of  all  popular  favor. 

It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  influence  of  sur- 
rounding atmospheres,  physical  and  social.  Sir  Ruther- 
ford Alcock,  who  once  represented  Great  Britain  in 
China,  visited  the  Great  Wall,  and  brought  back  two 
bricks  from  it.  "  I  do  not  pretend  to  determine,"  says 
Helps,  in  his  chapter  on  Social  Pressure,  "how  many 
centuries  these  bricks  had  kept  their  form,  and  betrayed 
no  signs  of  decay,  in  that  atmosphere.  But  those  centu- 
ries must  have  been  many.  Sir  Rutherford  put  these  two 
bricks  out  in  the  balcony  of  his  house  in  London.  About 
two  years  after,  one  of  these  bricks  had  entirely  gone  to 
pieces,  being  entirely  disintegrated  by  the  corrosive  influ- 
ence of  the  London  atmosphere."  "  In  Syria,  and  Pal- 
estine, and  Egypt,"  says  Kinglake,  "you  might  as  well 
dispute  the  efficacy  of  grass  or  grain  as  of  magic.  There 
is  no  controversy  about  the  matter.  The  effect  of  this, 
the  unanimous  belief  of  an  ignorant  people,  upon  the 
mind  of  a  stranger,  is  extremely  curious,  and  well  worth 
noticing.  A  man  coming  freshly  from  Europe  is  at  first 
proof  against  the  nonsense  with  which  he  is  assailed,  but 
often  it  happens  that  after  a  little  while  the  social  atmos- 
phere in  which  he  lives  will  begin  to  infect  him,  and  if  he 
has  been  unaccustomed  to  the  cunning  of  fence  by  which 
Reason  prepares  the  means  of  guarding  herself  against 
fallacy,  he  will  yield  himself  at  last  to  the  faith  of  those 
around  him,  and  this  he  will  do  by  sympathy,  it  would 
seem,  rather  than  from  conviction." 

Johnson,  in  his  Preface  to  Shakespeare,  says :  "  The 
great  contention  of  criticism  is  to  find  the  faults  of  the 
moderns,  and  the  beauties  of  the  ancients.  While  an 
author  is  yet  living,  we  estimate  his  powers  by  his  worst 


Jr 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  295 

performance,  and  when  he  is  dead,  we  rate  them  by  the 
iDest."  Lord  Brougham  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of 
giving  out  that  he  had  been  killed  in  a  carriage  accident, 
to  see  what  the  newspapers  would  say  of  him.  Several 
pages  are  devoted  to  this  curious  bit  of  history  by  Camp- 
bell in  his  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors.  "Whether 
Brougham  was  cognizant  of  this  piece  of  bad  pleasantry 
or  not,"  says  Lord  Campbell,  "  he  was  much  annoyed  by 
the  result  of  it.  Not  only  was  he  mortified  by  the  great 
preponderance  of  abuse  which  it  called  forth,  but  he  dis- 
covered, to  his  great  surprise,  that  he  was  generally  sus- 
pected to  be  the  author  of  it,  and  he  knew  the  ridicule 
which  he  must  have  incurred  by  killing  himself,  and  read- 
ing so  many,  and  such  unfavorable  characters  of  himself, 
written  when  he  was  supposed  to  have  gone  to  a  better 
world." 

Mr.  Greeley  used  to  tell  a  good  story  of  the  way  Amer- 
ican fabrics  were  once  disparaged  in  New  York  city.  Dr. 
Crosby,  of  New  Haven,  had  invented  an  ingenious  ma- 
chine for  the  manufacture  of  fish-hooks,  by  means  of 
which  a  coil  of  wire  would  be  converted  into  a  peck  of 
fish-hooks  of  any  size  with  astonishing  rapidity  and  per- 
fect success.  It  bent,  pointed,  barbed,  and  flattened  the 
heads  at  lightning  speed,  and  more  beautifully  than  could 
be  done  by  hand  manipulation.  Having  finished  a  quan- 
tity he  sent  them  down  to  New  York.  They  were  rejected 
as  not  of  standard  excellence.  He  sent  another  lot,  which 
was  also  rejected  for  the  same  reason.  He  then  sent 
down  a  third  lot  of  hooks  put  on  cards  as  usual,  and  said 
he  felt  sure  that  these  would  answer.  The  reply  came, 
No,  they  would- not  do  ;  they  were  not  up  to  the  British 
make.  Dr.  Crosby  then  wrote  down  indignantly  to  the 
New  York  house  :  "  Why,  gentlemen,  these  ought  to  suit 
you,  for  they  are  British  hooks  bought  from  your  own 
store,  and  packed  in  my  boxes  to  test  you."  That,  how- 
ever, did  not  signify,  and  the  American  hooks  were  still 
disparaged  and  refused. 


296  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Stanley,  when  voyaging  down  the  Congo,  had  this  sig- 
nificant experience  :  "  I  saw  before  me  over  a  hundred 
beings  of  the  most  degraded,  unpresentable  type  it  is 
possible  to  conceive;  and  though  I  knew  quite  well 
that  some  hundreds  of  years  ago  the  beginning  of  this 
wretched  humanity  and  myself  were  one  and  the  same, 
a  sneaking  disinclination  to  believe  it  possessed  me 
strongly,  and  I  would  even  now  willingly  subscribe  some 
small  amount  of  silver  money  for  him  who  could  but  as- 
sist me  to  controvert  the  discreditable  fact.  ...  If  the 
old  chief  appeared  so  unprepossessing,  how  can  I  paint 
without  offense  my  humble  brothers  and  sisters  who  stood 
around  us?  As  I  looked  at  the  array  of  faces,  I  could 
only  comment  to  myself,  —  ugly,  uglier,  ugliest  As  I 
looked  at  their  rude  and  filthy  bodies,  .  .  .  and  the 
general  indecency  of  their  nakedness,  I  ejaculated  *  Fear- 
ful ! '  as  the  sum  total  of  what  I  might  with  propriety  say, 
and  what  indeed  is  sufficiently  descriptive.  .  .  .  And 
how  strangely  they  smell,  all  these  queer  man-like  crea- 
tures who  stand  regarding  me  !  Not  silently  :  on  the 
contrary,  there  is  a  loud  interchange  of  comments  upon 
the  white's  appearance,  a  manifestation  of  broad  interest 
to  know  whence  I  came,  whither  I  am  going,  and  what  is 
my  business.  The  replies  were  followed  by  long-drawn 
ejaculations  of  *  Wa-a-a-antu  ! '  (*  Men  ! ')  *  Eha-a,  and 
these  are  men  ! '  Now  imagine  this  !  While  we  whites 
are  loftily  disputing  among  ourselves  as  to  whether  the 
beings  before  us  are  human,  here  were  these  creatures 
actually  expressing  strong  doubts  as  to  whether  we 
whites  are  men  !  A  dead  silence  prevailed  for  a  short 
time,  during  which  all  the  females  dropped  their  lower 
jaws  far  down,  and  then  cried  out  again,  *  Wa-a-a-a-a- 
antu!'  ('Men!')" 

A  charitable  old  woman,  who  afforded  Mungo  Park  a 
meal  and  lodging,  on  the  banks  of  the  Niger,  could  not 
refrain,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  kindness,  from  exclaim- 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  297 

ing,  "  God  preserve  us  from  the  devil,"  as  she  looked 
upon  him. 

It  has  been  said  that  we  must  have  the  same  enmities 
to  be  united  in  spirit.  That  in  order  to  love  one  another, 
we  must  have  hatreds  in  common.  Literature,  at  least, 
furnishes  some  proofs  of  this.  We  know,  for  instance, 
how,  on  account  of  the  satire  of  Fielding,  the  moral  Rich- 
ardson and  the  dissolute  Gibber  became  lasting  friends. 
"If  the  Athenians  were  wise  (Aristides  is  reported  to 
have  said,  in  the  height  and  peril  of  his  parliamentary 
struggle  with  Themistocles),  they  would  have  cast  both 
Themistocles  and  me  into  the  barathrum."  (The  bara- 
thrum was  a  deep  pit,  said  to  have  had  iron  spikes  at 
the  bottom,  into  which  criminals  condemned  to  death 
were  sometimes  cast.)  The  rulers,  in  Heine's  time,  re- 
fused a  residence  in  Prussia,  and  especially  in  Berlin,  to 
any  one  who  did  not  profess  one  of  the  positive  religions 
recognized  by  the  state.  Tacitus,  in  speaking  of  the 
Germans  eighteen  centuries  ago,  says  it  was  an  indis- 
pensable duty  to  adopt  the  enmities  of  a  father  or  rela- 
tion, as  well  as  their  friendships.  Mary  de  Medici,  mother 
of  Louis  XIII.,  was  extremely  anxious  to  obtain  the  good 
graces  of  her  son.  One  day  she  asked  the  prince  of 
Piedmont,  her  son-in-law,  "  How  shall  I  set  about  ob- 
taining them  ? "  The  prince  replied,  "  Love  truly  and 
sincerely  all  that  he  loves ;  these  words  contain  the  law 
and  the  prophets." 

Still,  according  to  Holmes,  "Whenever  two  natures 
have  a  great  deal  in  common,  the  conditions  of  a  first-rate 
quarrel  are  furnished  ready-made.  Relations  are  very 
apt  to  hate  each  other  just  because  they  are  too  much 
alike.  It  is  so  frightful  to  be  in  an  atmosphere  of  family 
idiosyncrasies  ;  to  see  all  the  hereditary  uncomeliness  or 
infirmity  of  body,  all  the  defects  of  speech,  all  the  failings 
of  temper,  intensified  by  concentration,  so  that  every  fault 
of  our  own  finds  itself  multiplied  by  reflections,  like  an 


298  CHARACTERISTICS. 

image  in  a  saloon  lined  with  mirrors  !  Nature  knows  what 
she  is  about.  The  centrifugal  principle  which  grows  out 
of  the  antipathy  of  like  to  like  is  only  the  repetition  in 
character  of  the  arrangement  we  see  expressed  materially 
in  certain  seed-capsules,  which  burst  and  throw  the  seed 
to  all  points  of  the  compass.  A  house  is  a  large  pod  with 
a  human  germ  or  two  in  each  of  its  cells  or  chambers  :  it 
opens  by  dehiscence  of  the  front  door  by  and  by,  and  pro- 
jects one  of  its  germs  to  Kansas,  another  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, another  to  Chicago,  and  so  on ;  and  this  that  Smith 
may  not  be  Smithed  to  death,  and  Brown  may  not  be 
Browned  into  a  mad-house,  but  mix  in  with  the  world 
again  and  struggle  back  to  average  humanity." 

Charles  Young  made  his  debut  at  the  Ha}Tnarket  on 
the  22d  of  June,  1807,  as  Hamlet.  It  was  an  undoubted 
success.  But  from  one  corner  of  the  theatre,  it  is  said, 
came  a  persistent  hiss.  Young  soon  succeeded  in  detect- 
ing the  malevolent  person,  and  recognized  in  him  his  own 
father  !  It  was  not  the  first  time  this  excellent  gentleman 
had  given  public  proof  of  animosity  against  his  children. 
Once  he  entered  a  stage-coach  in  which  one  of  his  sons 
(who  afterward  attained  some  eminence  as  a  surgeon) 
was  sitting,  and  without  speaking  a  word  struck  him  a 
heavy  blow  in  the  face.  The  young  man  ordered  the 
coach  to  stop,  and  as  he  alighted  turned  to  the  astonished 
passengers  and  said,  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  is  my 
father !  " 

Douglas  Jerrold  has  said,  "  Fishermen  in  order  to 
handle  eels  securely,  first  cover  them  with  dirt.  In  like 
manner  does  detraction  strive  to  grasp  excellence."  Le 
Sage  has  said  as  well :  "  Evil  tongues  never  want  a  whet. 
Virtue  herself  furnishes  weapons  for  her  own  mart}^- 
dom." 

"  Observe,"  says  La  Bruyere,  "  those  persons  who  never 
commend  any  one,  who  are  always  railing,  are  content 
with  nobody,  and  you  will  find  them  persons  with  whom 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  299 

nobody  is  content."  And  they  are  not  apt  to  be  content 
with  themselves.  "  How  happy  one  would  be,"  exclaims 
Madame  du  Deffand,  "  if  one  could  throw  off  one's  self  as 
one  can  throw  off  others !  but  one  is  perforce  with  one's 
self,  and  very  little  in  accord  with  one's  self." 

"  He  who  will  work  aright,"  said  Goethe  to  Eckermann, 
"  must  never  rail,  must  not  trouble  himself  at  all  about 
what  is  ill-done,  but  only  to  do  well  himself.  For  the 
great  point  is,  not  to  pull  down,  but  to  build  up,  and  in 
this  humanity  finds  pure  joy."  "  The  man  most  eager  to 
pull  another  down  is  the  person  who  wants  to  get  into  his 
place.     The  democrat  is  merely  ^  despot  in  disguise." 

It  is  said  that  in  Norway  there  is  a  superstition  that  if 
you  save  a  man  from  drowning,  he  will  serve  you  an  ill 
turn,  one  day  or  another.  Bourrienne  said  of  Fouche, 
Napoleon's  minister  of  police,  that  he  never  regarded  a 
benefit  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  means  of  injuring  his 
benefactor.  That  bitterest  of  all  satirists,  Talleyrand, 
being  told  that  a  certain  public  functionary  was  talking 
against  him,  exclaimed,  "  That  surprises  me.  I  have  never 
done  him  a  favor."  "  I  never  laughed  more,"  said  Voltaire 
to  Casanova,  "  than  when  I  read  that  Don  Quixote  found 
himself  in  the  greatest  perplexity  how  he  should  defend 
himself  against  the  galley-slaves,  whom,  out  of  generosity, 
he  had  liberated." 

That  is  good  advice  given  by  Hazlitt,  "  Never  quarrel 
with  tried  friends,  or  those  whom  you  wish  to  continue 
such.  Wounds  of  this  kind  are  sure  to  open  again. 
When  once  the  prejudice  is  removed  that  sheathes  de- 
fects, familiarity  only  causes  jealousy  and  distrust.  Do 
not  keep  on  with  a  mockery  of  friendship  after  the  sub- 
stance is  gone  —  but  part,  while  you  can  part  friends. 
Bury  the  carcass  of  friendship :  it  is  not  worth  embalm- 
ing." 

False  friendship  is  not  to  be  spoken  of.  Figured  down 
to  good  federal  money,  about  twenty-two  dollars  was  the 
sum  Judas  received  for  betraying  his  Master. 


300  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  If  what  we  see  is  doubtful,  how  can  we  believe  what 
is  spoken  behind  the  back  ? "  is  a  Chinese  proverb. 
"Why  did  you  say  such  things  behind  Mr.  Johnson's 
back  ?  "  "  Because,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  would  not  hurt 
his  feelings  by  saying  them  to  his  face."  Alas,  the  cour- 
age it  requires  to  defend  the  absent. 

It  is  so  easy  to  be  mistaken.  Eugene  Sue  was  a  boon 
companion  of  the  French  novelist  Fromieu.  The  two,  we 
are  told,  had  one  evening  dined  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  and 
by  reason  of  too  generous  after-dinner  potations,  their 
gayety,  on  issuing  from  the  famous  restaurant,  was  of  a 
highly  pronounced  type.^  At  once  Fromieu  made  a  false 
step,  and  falling,  sprained  his  ankle.  Sue,  who  in  his 
youth  had  pursued  a  long  course  of  medical  studies,  in- 
stantly lost  his  hilarity,  hailed  a  passing  cab,  and  having 
therein  seated  his  unfortunate  friend,  proceeded  in  the 
most  scientific  manner  to  reset  and  bandage  the  dislocated 
bone.  The  operation,  it  was  then  mutually  agreed  upon, 
was  a  magnificent  success,  and  the  author  of  The  Mys- 
teries of  Paris  laid  flattering  unction  on  his  soul,  and 
dreamed  again  of  splendid  fees  and  of  medals  of  honor. 
Next  morning  Sue  came  to  see  how  his  friend  was  pro- 
gressing, when,  to  his  surprise  and  horror,  he  discovered 
that  he  had  treated  the  wrong  ankle ! 

You  remepiber  the  old  anecdote  of  Bliicher's  admiration 
of  London  after  a  gorgeous  city  dinner  :  "  What  a  splen- 
did city  it  would  be  to  sack  ! "  cried  the  old  Prussian  to 
his  beaming  host.  A  fine  character  is  often  regarded  in 
the  same  way  by  the  defamer.  "All  hew  their  fagots 
from  the  fallen  oak." 

It  is  recorded  that  in  a  debate  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, when  Sir  Richard  Steele  rose  to  speak,  several 
members  cried  out  "  Tatler !  Tatler  !  "  and  when  he  went 
down  the  house  afterward,  several  members  were  heard 
to  say,  "  It  is  not  so  easy  a  thing  to  speak  in  the  house ; 
he  fancies,  because  he  can  scribble,  he  is  fit  to  play  the 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  30I 

orator."  This  circumstance,  as  Lord  John  Russell  very 
appropriately  remarked,  shows  the  natural  envy  of  man- 
kind towards  those  who  attempt  to  attain  more  than  one 
kind  of  preeminence.  For  it  is,  indeed,  more  often  envy 
than  prudence  which  has  warned  the  cobbler  not  to  go 
beyond  his  last,  and  has  declared  that  one  branch  of 
knowledge  is  enough  to  exhaust  all  the  energies  of  the 
human  mind. 

"  I  am  Envy ! "  exclaims  Marlowe  in  his  play  of 
Faustus  ;  "  I  am  Envy  !  —  begotten  of  a  chimney-sweep 
and  an  oyster-wife.  I  cannot  read,  and  therefore  wish  all 
books  burned.  I  am  lean  with  seeing  others  eat.  Oh  that 
there  would  come  a  famine  all  over  the  world  !  —  that  all 
might  die,  and  I  live  alone.  Then  thou  shouldst  see  how 
fat  I  'd  be  !  "  You  remember  the  bon-vivant  who  envied 
the  beggar's  staring  into  the  cook-shop  windows,  and 
wished  he  could  be  hungry.  "  Alas !  "  pathetically  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Siddons,  to  the  poet  Rogers,  "  after  I  be- 
came celebrated,  none  of  my  sisters  loved  me  as  before." 
"All  men,"  says  Plutarch,  "will  deny  envy;  and  when  it 
is  alleged,  will  feign  a  thousand  excuses,  pretending  they 
were  angry,  or  that  they  feared  or  hated  the  person, 
cloaking  envy  with  the  name  of  any  passion  they  can 
think  of,  and  concealing  it  as  the  most  loathsome  sick- 
ness of  the  soul." 

Miss  Sarah  Pocket,  one  of  Dickens'  characters,  was  "a 
blandly  vicious  person."  She  would  have  lingered  de- 
lightedly with  Dante,  to  hear  the  wrangle  of  the  damned 
spirits,  and  wrangled  with  them,  if  permitted.  Virgil's  re- 
proaches would  have  gone  unheeded.  Abu  Moslem,  who 
rebelled  against  Ibraham,  successor  of  Mahomet,  was 
never  seen  to  smile  except  on  a  day  of  battle. 

There  is  a  species  of  viper  in  India,  which,  in  vainly 
attempting  to  bite,  breaks  its  fangs,  so  that  it  is  compelled 
to  swallow  its  own  deadly  poison,  and  perish  by  the  very 
means  intended  for  the  destruction  of  others.     Malice, 


302  CHARACTERISTICS. 

in  the  same  way,  often  swallows  the  greater  part  of  its 
venom. 

Lady  Blessington  said,  "  We  are  never  so  severe  in  deal- 
ing with  the  sins  of  others  as  when  we  are  no  longer 
capable  of  committing  them  ourselves.  Few  people  re- 
member that  they  have  been  young,  and  how  hard  it  was 
then  to  be  chaste  and  temperate.  The  first  thing  men  do 
when  they  have  renounced  pleasure,  either  out  of  de- 
cency, surfeit,  or  conviction,  is  to  condemn  it  in  others." 
In  Montesquieu's  Persian  Letters  is  one  from  the  chief 
eunuch,  describing  to  his  absent  master  his  conduct  of 
the  seraglio.  "  I  never  open  my  mouth,"  he  says,  "  but 
with  lectures  of  duty,  chastity,  and  modesty." 

Few  retorts  are  better  than  the  pavior's  to  Sydenham, 
the  great  seventeenth  century  physician.  The  doctor 
was  complaining  of  the  bad  manner  in  which  the  pave- 
ment was  laid  in  front  of  his  house,  adding,  "  and  now 
you  throw  down  earth  to  hide  your  bad  work."  "  Well, 
doctor,"  said  the  man  quietly,  "  mine  is  not  the  only  bad 
work  that  the  earth  hides." 

There  are  many  amiable  people,  it  is  remarked,  who 
take  a  keen  pleasure  in  dashing  cold  water  upon  any  lit- 
tle manifestation  of  self-complacency  in  their  neighbors. 
To  find  out  a  man's  tenderest  corn,  and  then  to  bring 
your  heel  down  upon  it  with  a  good  rasping  scrunch,  is 
somewhat  gratifying  to  corrupt  human  nature.  A  kindly 
wit  contrives  to  convey  a  compliment  in  affected  satire. 
But  the  whole  aim  of  a  humorist  of  this  variety  is  to  con- 
vey the  most  mortifying  truths  in  the  most  brutal  plain- 
speaking. 

Macaulay  has  been  accused  of  yielding  to  the  temp- 
tation of  imputing  motives,  a  habit  which  the  Spectator 
newspaper  pronounced  to  be  his  one  intellectual  vice  — 
the  vice  of  rectitude.  Sterne  represents  Walter  Shandy 
as  "  a  great  motive-monger,  and  consequently  a  very  dan- 
gerous person  for  a  man  to  sit  by,  either  laughing  or  cry- 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  303 

ing,  —  for  he  generally  knew  your  motive  for  doing  both, 
much  better  than  you  knew  it  yourself." 

"  Virtue  is  a  beautiful  thing  in  women,"  said  Douglas 
Jerrold,  "  when  they  don't  go  about  like  a  child  with  a 
drum,  making  all  sorts  of  noises  with  it.  There  are  some 
women  (he  says)  who  think  virtue  was  given  them  as 
claws  were  given  to  cats  —  to  do  nothing  but  scratch 
with."  Virtue,  in  that  form,  is,  we  suppose,  what  some- 
body has  aptly  called  the  "  wrath  of  celestial  minds." 

"  They  who  have  (says  Coleridge)  attained  to  a  self- 
pleasing  pitch  of  civility  or  formal  religion,  have  usually 
that  point  of  presumption  with  it,  that  they  make  their 
own  size  the  model  and  rule  to  examine  all  by.  What  is 
below  it,  they  condemn  indeed  as  profane  ;  but  what  is 
beyond  it,  they  account  needless  and  affected  precise- 
ness ;  and  therefore  are  as  ready  as  others  to  let  fly  invec- 
tives or  bitter  taunts  against  it,  which  are  the  keen  and 
poisoned  shafts  of  the  tongue,  and  a  persecution  that 
shall  be  called  to  a  strict  account."  Mr.  Justice  Maule, 
in  summing  up  a  case  of  libel,  and  speaking  of  a  defend- 
ant who  had  exhibited  a  spiteful  piety,  observed,  "  One 
of  the  defendants  is,  it  seems,  a  minister  of  religion  ;  of 
what  religion  does  not  appear,  but,  to  judge  of  his  con- 
duct, it  cannot  be  any  form  of  Christianity." 

"  Sandy,  what  is  the  state  of  religion  in  your  town  ? " 
"  Bad,  sir,  very  bad.  There  are  no  Christians  except 
Davis  and  myself,  and  I  have  my  doubts  about  Davis." 
Sandy  was  what  Montesquieu  might  have  called  "  a  uni- 
versal decider."  In  the  Persian  Letters,  Rica  writes  to 
Usbek,  "  The  other  day  I  was  at  a  gathering  where  I  saw 
a  very  self-satisfied  man.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  de- 
cided three  questions  in  morals,  four  historical  problems, 
and  five  points  in  physics.  I  have  never  seen  such  a  uni- 
versal decider."  Such  complacency  is  illustrated  in  the 
Turkish  story  book.  One  night,  seeing  the  moon  re- 
flected in  a  well,  Nasr-Eddin  (the  Turkish  Joe  Miller) 


304  CHARACTERISTICS. 

thought  it  had  tumbled  in  ;  so  he  lowered  a  bucket  to 
pull  it  out.  The  rope  getting  entangled,  he  pulled  so 
hard  that  he  broke  it  and  fell  backwards.  When  he  came 
to  after  the  shock,  he  saw  that  the  moon  was  all  right  in 
the  sky.  "  God  be  praised  and  thanked  !  "  quoth  he  ; 
"  I  've  hurt  myself,  but  the  moon  is  put  back  in  her 
place." 

At  the  grand  academy  of  Lagado,  the  metropolis  of 
Balnibari,  Gulliver  "  heard  a  warm  debate  between  two 
professors,  about  the  most  commodious  and  effectual 
ways  and  means  of  raising  money,  without  grieving  the 
subject.  The  first  affirmed,  '  the  justest  method  would 
be,  to  lay  a  certain  tax  upon  vices  and  folly ;  and  the  sum 
fixed  upon  every  man  to  be  rated,  after  the  fairest  man- 
ner, by  a  jury  of  his  neighbors.'  The  second  was  of  an 
opinion  directly  contrary :  '  to  tax  those  qualities  of  body 
and  mind,  for  which  men  chiefly  value  themselves ;  the 
rate  to  be  more  or  less  according  to  the  degrees  of  ex- 
celling ;  the  decision  whereof  should  be  left  entirely  to 
their  own  breast.'  " 

Mr.  Gregory  told  Caroline  Fox  that,  going  by  steamer 
from  Liverpool  to  London,  he  sat  by  an  old  gentleman 
who  would  not  talk,  but  only  answered  his  inquiries  by 
nods  or  shakes  of  the  head.  When  they  went  down  to 
dinner,  he  determined  to  make  him  speak  if  possible,  so 
he  proceeded,  "You 're  going  to  London,  I  suppose?'* 
A  nod.  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  meet  you  there ;  where  are 
your  quarters  ?  "  There  was  no  repelling  this,  so  his 
friend,  with  the  energy  of  despair,  broke  out,  "  I-I-I-I  'm 
g-g-g-going  to  D-D-D-Doctor  Br-Br-Br-Brewster  to  be 
c-c-c-cured  of  this  sl-sl-sl-slight  im-impediment  of  sp-sp- 
sp-sp-speech."  At  this  instant  a  little  white  face  which 
had  not  appeared  before  popped  out  from  one  of  the 
berths  and  struck  in,  "  Th-th-th-that 's  the  m-m-m-man 
wh-wh-who  c-c-c-c-c-cured  me  !  " 

"  Judge  not  thy  fellow-man,"  says  the  Jewish  Talmud, 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  305 

"  till  thou  art  similarly  situated."  The  wisdom  whereof  is 
feelingly  expressed  in  the  story  of  Plutarch.  A  Roman 
having  repudiated  his  wife,  his  friends  reproached  him, 
remonstrating  that  she  was  fair  and  good,  and  had  fine 
children.  To  which  the  husband  replied  by  showing  his 
foot,  and  saying,  "  This  shoe  is  new,  and  well  made  ;  but 
none  of  you  know  where  it  pinches  3  I  do." 

Garrick  kept  a  book  of  all  who  praised  and  all  who 
abused  him.  Franklin,  in  his  autobiography,  mentions  a 
gentleman  who,  having  one  very  handsome  and  one  shriv- 
eled leg,  was  wont  to  test  the  disposition  of  a  new  ac- 
quaintance by  observing  whether  he  or  she  looked  first 
or  most  at  the  best  or  worst  leg.  "  He  who  cannot  see 
the  beautiful  side,"  says  Joubert,  ''is  a  bad  painter,  a 
bad  friend,  a  bad  lover ;  he  cannot  lift  his  mind  and  his 
heart  so  high  as  goodness."  "  There  are  heads,"  says  the 
same  wise  aphorist,  "that  have  no  windows,  and  that 
daylight  cannot  strike  from  above.  Nothing  comes  into 
them  from  the  side  of  heaven."  Who  has  read  and  not 
enjoyed  the  Life  of  John  Buncle,  Esq.  ?  the  model  hus- 
band of  seven  perfect  wives.  The  curious  book  is  a 
treasure.  It  is  romantic.  It  is  optimistic.  It  is  whole- 
some. So  full  of  good  animal  spirits.  The  geese  are  all 
swans.  The  houses  all  have  libraries  and  observatories 
and  conservatories  and  laboratories.  The  women  are  all 
learned  and  beautiful.  The  religion  inculcated  is  with- 
out cant.  The  style  is  delicious.  Many  of  the  para- 
graphs end  with  short  sentences,  that  suggest  for  all  the 
world  the  licking  of  overladen  lips,  after  "the  hungry 
edge  of  the  appetite  "  is  cloyed.  The  flavor  the  queer 
book  has !     No  wonder  it  has  lived. 

It  was  the  fashion  of  old,  when  an  ox  was  led  out  for 
sacrifice  to  Jupiter,  to  chalk  the  dark  spots  and  give  the 
offering  a  show  of  unblemished  whiteness.  "  There  goes 
Fritz,"  said  one  soldier  to  another,  as  the  king  went  by. 
"  What  a  shabby  old  hat  he  has  on  !  "  "  Yes,"  said  the 
20 


306  CHARACTERISTICS. 

other,  "  but  you  do  not  see  what  a  fine  head  it  covers." 
On  one  occasion  Louis  XIV.  asked  Bourdaloue,  the  fa- 
mous orator  of  Notre  Dame,  his  opinion  of  Ornorato, 
the  great  jocular  capuchin.  "Sire,"  was  the  reply, 
"  that  preacher  tickles  indeed  the  ear,  but  also  pricks  the 
heart.  People  return  at  his  sermons  the  purses  they 
steal  at  mine." 

"Gil  Bias  (said  his  master),  leave  our  neighbors  to 
discourse  as  they  please,  but  let  not  our  repose  depend 
on  their  judgments.  Never  mind  what  they  think  of  us, 
provided  our  own  consciences  do  not  wince."  "  There 
will  always  be  some  to  hate  you,"  said  Publius  Syrus,  "  if 
you  love  yourself."  "  Do  well,"  Rubens  would  say,  "and 
people  will  be  jealous  of  you :  do  better,  and  you  con- 
found them." 

My  grandfather  Titbottom  "  lived  much  alone,  and  was 
what  people  called  eccentric  —  by  which  I  understand, 
that  he  was  very  much  himself,  and,  refusing  the  influ- 
ence of  other  people,  they  had  their  revenges,  and  called 
him  names." 

It  is  a  very  serious  thing  to  do  as  you  like.  "  The 
man,  and  still  more  the  woman,"  says  John  Stuart  Mill, 
"  who  can  be  accused  of  either  doing  *  what  nobody  does,' 
or  of  not  doing  *  what  every  body  does,'  is  the  subject  of 
as  much  depreciatory  remark  as  if  he  or  she  had  com- 
mitted some  grave  moral  delinquency.  Persons  require 
to  possess  a  title,  or  some  other  badge  of  rank,  or  the 
consideration  of  people  of  rank,  to  be  able  to  indulge 
somewhat  in  the  luxury  of  doing  as  they  like  without  det- 
riment to  their  estimation.  To  indulge  somewhat,  I  re- 
peat :  for  whoever  allow  themselves  much  of  that  indul- 
gence incur  the  risk  of  something  worse  than  disparaging 
speeches  —  they  are  in  peril  of  a  commission  de  lunatico, 
and  of  having  their  property  taken  from  them  and  given 
to  their  relations." 

"  Men  of  true  wisdom  and  goodness,"  remarks  Field- 


THE  HABIT  OF  DETRACTION.  307 

ing,  "  are  contented  to  take  persons  and  things  as  they 
are,  without  complaining  of  their  imperfections  or  at- 
tempting to  amend  them ;  they  can  see  a  fault  in  a  friend, 
a  relation,  or  an  acquaintance,  without  ever  mentioning 
it  to  the  parties  themselves  or  to  any  others ;  and  this 
often  without  lessening  their  affection  :  indeed,  unless 
great  discernment  be  tempered  with  this  overlooking  dis- 
position, we  ought  never  to  contract  friendship  but  with 
a  degree  of  folly  which  we  can  deceive ;  for  I  hope  my 
friends  will  pardon  me  when  I  declare,  I  know  none  of 
them  without  a  fault ;  and  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  could 
imagine  I  had  any  friend  who  could  not  see  mine.  For- 
giveness of  this  kind  we  give  and  demand  in  turn  :  it  is 
an  exercise  of  friendship,  and  perhaps  none  of  the  least 
pleasant,  and  this  forgiveness  we  must  bestow  without 
desire  of  amendment.  There  is  perhaps  no  surer  mark 
of  folly,  than  an  attempt  to  correct  the  natural  infirmities 
of  those  we  love  :  the  finest  composition  of  human  na- 
ture, as  well  as  the  finest  china,  may  have  a  flaw  in  it  j 
and  this,  I  am  afraid,  in  either  case,  is  equally  incurable, 
though  nevertheless  the  pattern  may  remain  of  the  high- 
est value." 

An  amiable  feature  in  Edmund  Burke's  disposition,  we 
are  told,  was  a  dislike  to  any  thing  like  detraction,  or 
that  insinuation  against  private  character  too  often  toler- 
ated even  in  what  is  called  good  society,  which,  without 
amounting  to  slander,  produces  nearly  the  same  effects. 
When  this  occurred  in  his  own  house  by  any  one  with 
whom  he  was  familiar,  he  would  directly  check  it,  or  drop 
a  hint  to  that  efiect :  "  Now  that  you  have  begun  with 
his  defects,"  he  would  say,  "  I  presume  you  mean  to.  fin- 
ish with  a  catalogue  of  his  virtues  ; "  and  sometimes  said, 
though  mildly,  "  Censoriousness  is  allied  to  none  of  the 
virtues."  When  remarks  of  this  kind  were  introduced  by 
others  whom  it  might  have  been  rude  to  interrupt,  he 
took  the  part  of  the  accused  by  apologies,  or  by  urging  a 


308  CHARACTERISTICS. 

different  construction  of  their  actions,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
could,  changed  the  subject ;  exempUfying  the  advice  he 
once  familiarly,  but  wisely  gave  to  a  grave  and  anxious 
acquaintance,  who  was  giving  vent  to  some  querulous 
lamentations,  "  Regard  not  trifles,  my  dear  sir ;  live  pleas- 
antly." 

It  is  best,  wisely  concluded  Thackeray,  on  the  whole, 
for  the  sake  of  the  good,  that  the  bad  should  not  all  be 
found  out.  You  don't  want  your  children  to  know  the 
history  of  the  lady  in  the  next  box,  who  is  so  handsome, 
and  whom  they  admire  so.  Ah  me,  what  would  life  be 
if  we  were  all  found  out,  and  punished  for  all  our  faults  ? 
Jack  Ketch  would  be  in  permanence;  and  then  who 
would  hang  Jack  Ketch  ? 


XII. 

THE  ART  OF   LIVING. 

The  eminent  Theodore  Parker,  not  long  before  his 
death,  wrote  from  Rome,  "  Oh,  that  I  had  known  the  art 
of  life,  or  found  some  book  or  some  man  to  tell  me  how 
to  live,  to  study,  to  take  exercise,  etc.  But  I  found  noqe, 
and  so  here  I  am."  Alas  !  The  art  of  life  !  We  all  sigh 
for  it.  If  only  some  one  knew  it,  and  could  impart  it, 
how  we  should  all  flock  to  him  to  learn  !  '^  There  is 
nothing  so  handsome  and  lawful,"  says  Montaigne,  "  as 
well  and  truly  to  play  the  man  ;  nor  science  so  hard  as 
well  to  know  how  to  live  this  life.  .  .  .  We  say,  *  I  have 
done  nothing  to-day.'  What !  have  you  not  lived  ?  'T  is 
not  only  the  fundamental,  but  the  most  illustrious  of  your 
occupations.  ...  'T  is  an  absolute,  and,  as  it  were,  a 
divine  perfection,  for  a  man  to  know  how  loyally  to  enjoy 
his  being."  To  enjoy  life,  to  relish  it,  without  the  trans- 
port of  some  passion,  or  the  gratification  of  some  appe- 
tite. To  live  to  have  the  fewest  regrets.  Some  such  ad- 
monitory words  as  a  wise  man  once  caused  to  be  written 
on  his  tomb,  one  would  think,  would  be  in  every  mind's 
eye,  —  "  Think  on  living."  Yesterday  —  to-day.  "  We 
are  all  going  to  the  play,  or  coming  home  from  it."  The 
past  is  dead,  the  present  is  without  memory,  the  future  is 
not  assured  j  we  are  to  be,  in  a  sense,  as  if  we  had  never 
been.  If  only  we  could  live  to-day  upon  the  experience 
of  yesterday,  something  like  foresight  would  be  given  us, 
and  to-morrow  might  be  easier  and  more  joyful.  "  Fool- 
ish man  ! "  exclaims  Goethe,  "  who  passes  the  day  in 
complaining  of  headache,  and  the  night  in  drinking  the 


3  lO  CHARACTERISTICS. 

wine  that  produces  it."  "  Comedy  is  crying,"  said  little 
Lucy  Triplett  to  Pegg  Woffington.  "  Father  cried  all  the 
time  he  was  writing  his  one."  "  Nobody,"  says  Haw- 
thorne, "  will  use  other  people's  experience,  nor  has  any 
of  his  own  till  it  is  too  late  to  use  it."  Experience  ! 
"  To  most  men,"  said  Coleridge,  "  experience  is  like  the 
stern  lights  of  a  ship,  which  illumine  only  the  track  it 
has  passed."  Strange  !  that  any  thing  so  common  and  so 
useful  should  be  of  so  little  use  as  heads.  Every  body 
has  one.  It  is  not  strange  that  we  should  do  foolish 
things  j  but  that  we  should  do  the  same  foolish  things, 
over  and  over,  is  more  than  strange  —  it  is  incomprehen- 
sible. In  homely  phrase,  we  follow  our  noses,  and  not 
our  judgments.  "When  we  subtract  from  life  infancy 
(which  is  vegetation),  —  sleep,  eating,  and  swilling  — 
buttoning  and  unbuttoning  —  how  much,"  asks  Byron, 
"  remains  of  downright  existence  ?  The  summer  of  a 
dormouse."  "  Youth,"  says  Beaconsfield,  "  is  a  blunder, 
manhood  a  struggle,  old  age  a  regret."  "  To  those  who 
think,"  says  Horace  Walpole,  "life  is  a  comedy  —  to 
those  who  feel,  a  tragedy."  "  We  must  laugh  at  man," 
said  the  great  Napoleon,  "  to  avoid  crying  at  him." 

It  was  a  profound  thought  of  Arthur  Helps  that  if  the 
object  of  the  arrangements  of  the  universe  was  to  make 
man  happy,  he  would  have  been  gifted  with  at  least  five 
minutes'  foresight.  "  Heavens  !  "  exclaimed  De  Quincey, 
..."  if  life  could  throw  open  its  long  suites  of  cham- 
bers to  our  eyes  from  some  station  beforehand,  —  if,  from 
some  secret  stand,  we  could  look  by  anticipation  along 
its  vast  corridors,  and  aside  into  the  recesses  opening 
upon  them  from  either  hand,  —  halls  of  tragedy  or  cham- 
bers of  retribution,  simply  in  that  small  wing,  and  no 
more,  of  the  great  caravanserai  which  we  ourselves  shall 
haunt,  —  simply  in  that  narrow  tract  of  time,  and  no 
more,  where  we  ourselves  shall  range,  and  confining  our 
gaze  to  those,  and  no  others,  for  whom  personally  we 


THE  ART   OF  LIVING.  3II 

shall  be  interested,  —  what  a  recoil  we  should  suffer  of 
horror  in  our  estimate  of  life  I  .  .  .  Death  we  can  face  : 
but  knowing,  as  some  of  us  do,  what  is  human  life,  which 
of  us  is  it  that  without  shuddering  could  (if  consciously 
we  were  summoned)  face  the  hour  of  birth  ?  " 

Dr.  Johnson,  whose  one  enthusiasm  was  "  an  enthusi- 
asm of  sadness,"  pronounced  the  world  in  its  best  estate 
to  be  nothing  more  than  a  larger  assembly  of  being,  com- 
bining to  counterfeit  happiness,  which  they  do  not  feel, 
employing  every  art  and  contrivance  to  embellish  life, 
and  to  hide  their  real  condition  from  one  another. 

The  lives  of  those  who  in  England  were  loudest  in  ex- 
claiming, All  is  for  the  best,  did  not  prove  the  truth  of 
their  doctrine.  Shaftesbury,  who  first  brought  it  into 
fashion,  was  a  very  unfortunate  man.  "  I  have,"  says  Vol- 
taire, "  seen  Bolingbroke  a  prey  to  vexation  and  rage,  and 
Pope,  whom  he  employed  to  put  his  wretched  system 
into  verse,  was  the  man  most  to  be  pitied  of  any  I  have 
known ;  misshapen  in  body,  dissatisfied  in  mind,  always 
ill,  always  a  burden  to  himself,  and  harassed  by  a  hun- 
dred enemies  to  his  very  last  moment.  Let  those  at  least 
be  fortunate  and  prosperous  who  tell  us,  All  is  for  the 
best." 

They  have  a  legend  in  Spain  that  Adam  made  a  visit 
to  the  earth  a  few  years  ago,  to  see  how  his  farm  was 
getting  on.  He  alighted  in  Germany,  and  found  schools, 
and  colleges,  and  books,  and  the  people  intent  on  learn- 
ing. He  soon  left  it  for  France,  where  the  people  dressed 
in  fantastic  styles,  and  were  mad  upon  works  of  art  and 
improvements  unknown  to  our  great  ancestor.  Disgusted 
with  all  he  saw,  he  went  down  to  Spain,  and,  with  delight, 
exclaimed,  "  This  is  just  as  I  left  it !  "  But  the  legend 
stops  short  of  telling  us  that  Spain  herself  was  particularly 
happy  in  her  condition. 

"  People  always  fancy,"  said  Goethe,  laughing,  "  that 
we  must  become  old  to  become  wise ;  but,  in  truth,  as 


312  CHARACTERISTICS. 

years  advance,  it  is  hard  to  keep  ourselves  as  wise  as  we 
were.  Man  becomes,  indeed,  in  the  different  stages  of 
his  life,  a  different  being ;  but  he  cannot  say  that  he  is  a 
better  one,  and,  in  certain  matters,  he  is  as  likely  to  be 
right  in  his  twentieth,  as  in  his  sixtieth  year.  We  see  the 
world  one  way  from  a  plain,  another  way  from  the  heights 
of  a  promontory,  another  from  the  glacier  fields  of  the 
primary  mountains.  We  see,  from  one  of  these  points, 
a  larger  piece  of  the  world  than  from  the  other ;  but  that 
is  all,  and  we  cannot  say  that  we  see  more  truly  from  any 
one  than  from  the  rest." 

"  All  places,"  said  old  Burton,  "  are  distant  from  heaven 
alike ;  happily  the  sun  shines  as  warm  in  one  city  as  in 
another ;  and  to  a  wise  man  there  is  no  difference  of 
climes ;  friends  are  everywhere  to  him  that  behaves  him- 
self well,  and  a  prophet  is  not  esteemed  in  his  own  coun- 
try." 

"  There  are  to-day  at  Naples,"  said  Montesquieu,  "  fifty 
thousand  men  who  live  only  upon  herbs,  and  whose  only 
possession  is  the  woolen  habit  which  they  wear;  yet 
these  people,  the  most  miserable  upon  the  earth,  fall 
down  with  fear  at  the  least  smoking  of  Vesuvius  :  they 
have  the  foolish  apprehension  of  becoming  miserable." 

"  I  believe,"  says  Thoreau,  "  that  men  are  still  a  little 
afraid  of  the  dark,  though  the  witches  are  all  hung,  and 
Christianity  and  candles  have  been  introduced."  All 
over  England,  it  is  stated,  the  peasants  believe  still  that 
the  spirits  of  unbaptized  children  wander  in  the  wind, 
and  that  the  wails  at  their  doors  and  windows  are  the 
cries  of  the  little  souls  condemned  to  journey  till  the  last 
day.  .  It  is  said  that  amongst  the  curiosities  in  the  India- 
House,  is  the  dream  book  of  Tippoc  Sahib,  in  which  he 
daily  wrote  his  dreams  and  their  interpretation  with  his 
own  hand,  and  to  which  he,  like  Wallen stein,  might 
mainly  have  ascribed  his  fall.  Cambyses,  for  having 
dreamt  that  his  brother  should  be  one  day  King  of  Per- 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  313 

sia,  put  him  to  death  ;  a  brother  whom  he  tenderly  loved, 
in  whom  he  had  always  confided.  Cowper  communicated 
his  waking  dreams  to  a  poor  mendicant  schoolmaster, 
and  consulted  with  him  about  them,  as  a  person  whom 
the  Lord  was  pleased  to  answer  in  prayer.  Tycho  Brahe 
maintained  an  idiot,  who  lay  at  his  feet  whenever  he  sat 
down  to  dinner,  and  whom  he  fed  with  his  own  hand. 
Persuaded  that  his  mind,  when  moved,  was  capable  of 
foretelling  future  events,  the  great  astronomer  carefully 
marked  every  thing  he  said.  Cromwell,  Napoleon,  John- 
son, Pascal,  and  many  other  great  personages,  were  pe- 
culiarly prone  to  superstition.  The  fact  is,  some  one 
has  said,  that  men  who  deal  with  enormous,  incalcula- 
ble forces,  as  statesmen  and  generals  do,  have  the  same 
temptations  as  gamblers  to  indulge  in  superstition.  Be- 
yond what  we  can  see  and  know  remains  the  province 
in  which  we  can  guess,  and  our  unacknowledged  guesses 
are  often  as  irrational  as  those  of  the  savage  who  fan- 
cies that  the  paddle-wheel  of  a  steamer  is  licked  round 
by  the  tongue  of  a  great  serpent. 

Many  years  ago,  we  are  told,  before  the  days  of  rail- 
ways, a  nobleman  and  his  lady,  with  their  infant  child, 
were  traveling  in  the  depth  of  winter  across  Salisbuiy 
Plain.  A  snow-storm  overtook  them  ;  their  child  became 
ill  from  the  cold,  and  they  were  forced  to  take  refuge  in 
a  lone  shepherd's  hut.  The  wild  shepherd  and  his  wife 
drew  near  the  child  in  awe  and  silence.  The  nurse  be- 
gan undressing  it  by  the  warm  cottage  fire.  Silken  frock 
and  head-dress  did  the  baby  wear.  One  rich  baby-dress 
came  off  to  reveal  another  more  beautiful.  Still  the  shep- 
herd and  his  wife  looked  on  with  awe.  At  last  the  proc- 
ess of  undressing  was  completed,  and  the  now  naked 
baby  was  being  warmed  by  the  fire.  Then  was  it,  when 
all  these  wrappings  and  outer  husks  were  peeled  off,  that 
the  shepherd  and  his  wife,  relieved  of  their  superstition, 
broke  silence,  exclaiming,  '*  Why,  it  's  just  like  one  oi 
ours!" 


314  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Allston,  the  artist,  when  he  was  in  England,  told  Cole- 
ridge an  anecdote  of  a  youth  in  America  who  took  it  into 
his  head  to  convert  a  free-thinking  companion  by  appear- 
ing as  a  ghost  before  him.  He  accordingly  dressed  him- 
self up  in  the  usual  way,  having  previously  extracted  the 
ball  from  the  pistol  which  always  lay  near  the  head  of  his 
friend's  bed.  Upon  first  awaking,  and  seeing  the  appari- 
tion, the  youth  who  was  to  be  frightened  very  coolly 
looked  his  companion  the  ghost  in  the  face,  and  said,  "  I 
know  you.  This  is  a  good  joke ;  but  you  see  I  am  not 
frightened.  Now  you  may  vanish  !  "  The  ghost  stood 
still.  "  Come,"  said  the  other,  "  that  is  enough.  I  shall 
get  angry.     Away  !  "     Still  the  ghost  moved  not.     "  By 

,"  ejaculated  the  man  in  bed,  "  if  you  do  not  in  three 

minutes  go  away,  I  '11  shoot  you."  He  waited  the  time, 
deliberately  leveled  the  pistol,  fired,  and  with  a  scream 
at  the  immobility  of  the  figure,  became  convulsed,  and 
afterward  died.  The  very  instant  he  believed  it  to  be  a 
ghost,  his  human  nature  fell  before  it. 

In  our  purblind  and  crippled  state,  our  superstitions 
and  prejudices  are  our  most  convenient  crutches.  The 
more  ignorant  we  are,  the  more  necessary  they  seem  to 
us.  Poor  auxiliaries,  we  may  say,  but  better  than  noth- 
ing, in  our  many  extremities.  Something  we  must  have 
to  hold  to,  as  we  feel  our  way  in  the  obscurity  of  our  in- 
telligence and  reason  ;  and  these  poor  aids  come  down  to 
us  as  a  part  of  the  general  inheritance  of  ignorance  from 
the  generations  that  groped  before  us.  To  whatever  ex- 
tent we  may  conceal  them,  or  deny  them,  or  be  ashamed 
of  them,  in  extremity  they  show  themselves,  as  in  death 
the  family  likeness  comes  out  which  is  obscured  by  indi- 
vidual peculiarities  during  active  life.  The  old  lithograph 
printer  at  the  Riverside  Press  told  us  that  it  not  unfre- 
quently  happens  that  the  picture,  thought  to  have  been 
completely  ground  out  of  the  stone,  reappears  to  contest 
its  successor  and  confound  the  printer. 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  315 

Alas !  our  ignorance.  Our  transgressions  are  quite  as 
often  blunders  as  sins.  The  Japanese  do  not  swear  at 
one  another ;  they  say  "  Fool ! "  Cave,  who  was  jailer 
during  the  two  years  Leigh  Hunt  was  a  prisoner,  had  be- 
come a  philosopher  by  the  force  of  his  situation.  He 
said  to  Hunt  one  day,  when  a  new  batch  of  criminals 
came  in,  "  Poor  ignorant  wretches,  sir  !  "  The  Chinese 
have  a  profound  saying  which  expresses  it :  "  He  who 
finds  pleasure  in  vice  and  pain  in  virtue  is  a  novice  in 
both." 

We  are  told  of  a  traveler  who  once  went  all  the  way 
from  New  Zealand  to  see  London.  He  landed  at  Poplar, 
where  he  stayed  till  it  was  time  to  take  ship  back  again, 
which  he  did  under  the  firm  belief  that  he  had  seen  Lon- 
don in  all  its  grandeur.  Linnaeus  considered  that  a  small 
quantity  of  moss  that  could  be  covered  by  the  hand  might 
be  the  study  of  a  lifetime.  It  is  asserted  that  in  the  very 
advanced  and  ramified  science  of  chemistry,  fourteen  years 
are  required  by  the  student  to  overtake  knowledge  as  it 
now  stands.  That  is  to  say,  that  to  learn  what  is  known, 
before  you  can  proceed  to  institute  new  experiments, 
fourteen  years  are  necessary  —  twice  the  time  which  the 
old  law  of  England  exacted  of  an  apprentice  bound  to 
any  trade.  It  is  pronounced  by  De  Quincey  to  be  one  of 
the  misfortunes  of  life,  that  we  must  read  thousands  of 
books  only  to  discover  that  we  need  not  have  read  them. 
"The  modern  precept  of  education  very  often  is  (says 
Sydney  Smith)  *  Take  the  admirable  Crichton  for  your 
model ;  I  would  have  you  ignorant  of  nothing.'  Now  my 
advice  on  the  contrary  is,  to  have  the  courage  to  be  igno- 
rant of  a  great  number  of  things,  in  order  to  avoid  the 
calamity  of  being  ignorant  of  every  thing."  So  too,  when 
somebody,  in  eulogizing  a  distinguished  member  of  one  of 
the  English  universities,  observed  that  "  science  was  his 
forte,"  Sydney  retorted,  "  and  omniscience  his  foible." 

It  is  true,  as  a  quaint  old  writer  puts  it,  that  the  great- 


3l6  CHARACTERISTICS. 

est  part  of  our  felicity  is  to  be  well-born  —  of  parents,  in 
other  words,  with  sound  bodies,  sound  minds,  and  correct 
principles,  and  to  inherit  the  same.  Especially,  if  it  be 
true,  as  Hazlitt  asserts,  that  "  no  one  ever  changes  his 
character  from  the  time  he  is  two  years  old ;  nay,  from 
the  time  he  is  two  hours  old.  We  may,  with  instruction 
and  opportunity,  mend  our  manners,  or  else  alter  them 
for  the  worse,  *  as  the  flesh  or  fortune  shall  serve ; '  but 
the  character,  the  internal,  original  bias  remains  always 
the  same,  true  to  itself  to  the  very  last  —  *  and  feels  the 
ruling  passion  strong  in  death.'  .  .  .  The  color  of  our 
lives  is  woven  into  the  fatal  thread  at  our  births ;  our 
original  sins  and  our  redeeming  graces  are  infused  into 
us  j  nor  is  the  bond,  that  confirms  our  destiny,  ever  can- 
celed." 

Nevertheless,  against  all  odds,  humanity  hopefully  ex- 
erts herself  to  overcome  every  neglect  and  effect.  "  This 
afternoon,"  says  a  late  writer,  "  I  w^ent  into  the  New  Eng- 
land Hospital  for  Women  and  Children,  and  the  head 
physician,  a  woman,  with  a  rare  blending  of  sweetness 
and  light  in  her  face,  took  me  round  through  the  wards. 
Presently,  we  entered  that  of  the  children,  where  were, 
perhaps,  half  a  dozen  little  ones  of  from  two  to  five,  with 
their  attendants.  How  the  eyes  beamed  and  the  hands 
began  to  wave  when  they  saw  the  welcome  face  !  In  the 
middle  of  the  floor  lay  a  warm  blanket,  on  which  was 
sprawling  a  chubby-cheeked,  flaxen-haired  little  fellow  of 
two  and  a  half  or  three.  '  Let  me  show  you  how  he  can 
help  himself  on  to  his  feet,'  the  beaming  doctor  said. 
And  sure  enough,  when  she  had  encouragingly  reached 
him  her  hands,  he  worked  himself  up  erect  in  such  cred- 
itable fashion  that  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  banners  of  tri- 
umph hung  out  from  his  proud  little  face.  *  Two  months 
ago,'  she  went  on  to  say,  *  he  was  brought  here  diseased 
and  half-starved.  No  bones,  gristle  only,  through  lack 
of  proper  food.     But  I  '11  make  a  brave  little  man  out  of 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  31/ 

him  yet ! '  And  her  face  glowed  a  look  of  such  genuine 
delight  over  her  blessed  work  that  I  felt  an  instinctive 
thrill." 

"  There  are  more  diminutive  and  ill-shapen  men  and 
women  in  Rome,"  says  Hawthorne,  "  than  I  ever  saw 
elsewhere,  a  phenomenon  to  be  accounted  for,  perhaps, 
by  their  custom  of  wrapping  the  new-born  infant  in 
swaddling  clothes."  Speaking  of  the  customs  of  the  Mo- 
ravians, Southey  remarks:  "The  system  of  taking  chil- 
dren from  their  parents,  breaking  up  domestic  society,  and 
sorting  human  beings  like  cabbage -plants,  according  to 
their  growth,  is  not  more  consonant  to  nature  than  the 
Egyptian  method  of  hatching  eggs  in  ovens  :  a  great  pro- 
portion of  the  chickens  are  said  to  be  produced  with  some 
deformity,  and  hens  thus  hatched  bear  a  less  price  than 
those  which  have  been  reared  in  the  natural  way,  because 
it  often  happens  that  they  will  not  sit  upon  their  eggs, — 
the  course  of  instinct  having  been  disturbed." 

It  is  stated  that  when  the  poet  Wordsworth  was  en- 
gaged in  composing  The  White  Doe  of  Rylstone,  he  re- 
ceived a  wound  in  his  foot,  and  he  observed  that  the 
continuation  of  the  literary  labor  increased  the  irritation 
of  the  wound,  whereas  by  suspending  his  work  he  could 
diminish  it,  and  absolute  mental  rest  produced  a  perfect 
cure.  "  Constitution,"  says  Dr.  Holmes,  in  his  remark- 
able Elsie  Venner,  "has  more  to  do  with  belief  than 
people  think  for.  I  went  to  the  Universalist  Church, 
when  I  was  in  the  city  one  day,  to  hear  a  famous  man 
whom  all  the  world  knows,  and  I  never  saw  such  pews- 
full  of  broad  shoulders  and  florid  faces,  and  substantial, 
wholesome-looking  persons,  male  and  female,  in  all  my 
life.  Why,  it  was  astonishing.  Either  their  creed  made 
them  healthy,  or  they  chose  it  because  they  were  healthy." 

If  only  full-grown  men  and  full-grown  women,  with 
sound  bodies  and  sound  minds,  were  suffered  to  marry  ! 
But  conscience,  integrity,  and  reason,  have  little  to  do 


3l8  CHARACTERISTICS. 

with  the  divine  relation.  "  A  youth  marries  in  haste," 
says  Emerson  ;  "  afterward,  when  his  mind  is  opened  to 
the  reason  of  the  conduct  of  life,  he  is  asked  what  he 
thinks  of  the  institution  of  marriage,  and  of  the  right  re- 
lation of  the  sexes  ?  *  I  should  have  much  to  say,'  he 
might  reply,  *if  the  question  were  open,  but  I  have  a 
wife  and  children,  and  all  question  is  closed  to  me.'  " 
A  young  man  came  to  say  he  was  about  to  be  married, 
and  to  ask  what  was  thought  of  it.  The  reply  was,  "  You 
say  you  are  going  to  be  married  ;  that  settles  the  matter 
for  you.  If  you  had  told  me  you  thought  of  marriage,  I 
might  have  had  something  to  say  of  it."  "  More  mis- 
ery," says  an  eminent  married  woman,  "comes  from  the 
antagonism  between  man  and  woman  than  from  all  other 
causes  put  together ;  for  each  starts  in  life  worshiping 
an  ideal  being  who  has  no  existence  in  this  world." 
"That  so  few  marriages  are  observed  to  be  happy,"  says 
Montaigne,  "  is  a  token  of  its  price  and  value.  If  well 
formed,  and  rightly  taken,  't  is  the  best  of  all  human  so- 
cieties. We  cannot  live  without  it,  and  yet  we  do  noth- 
ing but  degrade  it.  It  happens  as  with  cages ;  the  birds 
without  despair  to  get  in,  and  those  within  despair  of  get- 
ting out."  "  Did  you  ever  hear  my  definition  of  mar- 
riage ? "  asked  Sydney  Smith.  "  It  is  that  it  resembles 
a  pair  of  shears,  so  joined  that  they  cannot  be  separated ; 
often  moving  in  opposite  directions,  yet  always  punishing 
any  one  who  comes  between  them."  You  remember  the 
conceit  of  the  great  French  satirist,  of  the  man  who  had 
been  made  deaf  by  his  physician,  that  he  might  not  hear 
the  scoldings  of  his  wife,  whose  tongue  the  utmost  skill 
of  the  surgeon  had  previously  failed  to  cure  of  its  vio- 
lence. "  Some  time  after,  the  doctor  asked  for  his  fee  of 
the  husband  ;  who  answered,  that  truly  he  was  deaf,  and 
so  was  not  able  to  understand  what  the  tenor  of  his  de- 
mand might  be.  Whereupon  the  leech  bedusted  him  with 
a  sort  of  powder,  which  rendered  him  a  fool  immedi- 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  319 

ately,  so  great  was  the  stultifying  virtue  of  that  strange 
kind  of  pulverized  dose.  Then  did  this  fool  of  a  hus- 
band, and  his  mad  wife,  join  together,  and  fallitig  on  the 
doctor  and  the  surgeon,  did  so  scratch,  bethwack,  and 
bang  them,  that  they  were  left  half  dead  upon  the  place, 
so  furious  were  the  blows  which  they  received."  "  I  am 
well  aware,"  wrote  Schiller  to  Korner,  "  that  of  ten  men 
who  marry,  there  are  nine  who  choose  their  wives  to 
please  other  people  —  I  choose  mine  to  please  myself." 
Madame  de  Stael's  marriage,  like  most  marriages  of  pol- 
icy, was  far  from  being  a  happy  one.  When  she  became 
a  mother,  she  used  sorrowfully  to  say,  "  I  will  force  my 
daughter  to  make  a  marriage  of  inclination." 

"  The  most  important  thing  in  life,"  said  Pascal,  "  is 
the  choice  of  a  profession  j  yet  this  is  a  thing  purely 
in  the  disposal  of  chance."  And  we  never  stop  to  con- 
sider the  effects  of  occupation  upon  mind  and  character. 
Rosch  and  Esquirol  affirm  from  observation  that  indigo- 
dyers  become  melancholy,  and  those  who  dye  scarlet, 
choleric. 

"  The  high  prize  of  life,"  says  Emerson,  "  the  crown- 
ing fortune  of  a  man,  is  to  be  born  with  a  bias  to  some 
pursuit,  which  finds  him  in  employment  and  happiness." 

Quin  was  very  proud  of  his  vocation.  A  peer,  who,  at 
least,  had  wit  enough  to  enjoy  Quin's  society,  had  the 
ill-manners  to  say,  "  What  a  pity  it  is,  Mr.  Quin,  you  are 
an  actor."  "  Why,"  said  ever-ready  James,  "  what  would 
you  have  me  be  ?  —  a  lord  ?  " 

It  has  been  very  truly  said  that  the  man  who  would 
raise  himself  to  be  a  power  must  begin  by  securing  a  pe- 
cuniary independence.  Michelet  describes  a  French  pea- 
sant on  a  Sunday  morning,  walking  out  in  his  clean  linen 
and  unsoiled  blouse.  His  wife  is  at  church,  and  this 
simple  farmer  paces  across  his  acres  and  looks  fondly  at 
his  land.  You  see  him  in  solitude,  but  his  face  is  illu- 
minated when  he  thinks  his  farm  is  his  own,  from  the 


320  CHARACTERISTICS. 

surface  of  the  globe  to  its  centre,  and  that  the  climate  is 
his  own  from  the  surface  of  the  earth  up  to  the  seventh 
heaven.  You  find  that  man,  if  a  stranger  approaches 
him,  withdrawing,  that  he  may  enjoy  his  affection  in  soli- 
tude; and  as  he  turns  away  from  his  Sunday  walk  through 
his  own  pastures,  you  notice  that  he  looks  back  over  his 
shoulder  with  affection,  and  parts  with  regret.  He  is  not 
at  work ;  he  is  not  out  to  keep  off  interlopers ;  he  is  out 
simply  to  enjoy  the  feeling  of  ownership,  and  to  look 
upon  himself  as  a  member  of  responsible  society.  His 
dear  possessions  are  without  encumbrance.  He  owes  no 
man  any  thing.  That  hated  thing,  mortgage  —  from  two 
French  words,  meaning  death-pledge  (death-grip)  —  does 
not  affright  him.  Ah  !  if  only  every  land-owner  realized 
its  derivation  and  full  meaning.  In  the  time  of  Solon  a 
pillar  was  erected  on  every  piece  of  mortgaged  land,  in- 
scribed with  the  name  of  the  lender  and  the  amount  of 
the  loan.  Every  debtor  unable  to  fulfill  his  contract  was 
liable  to  be  adjudged  as  the  slave  of  his  creditor,  until  he 
could  find  means  either  of  paying  it  or  working  it  out ; 
and  not  only  he  himself,  but  his  minor  sons  and  unmar- 
ried daughters  and  sisters  also,  whom  the  law  gave  him 
the  power  of  selling. 

The  feeling  of  ownership,  which  comes  of  possessing 
what  is  the  representative  of  so  much  toil  and  painstak- 
ing fidelity  —  of  so  much  self-denial  and  so  much  self- 
sacrifice  —  amounts  to  a  steady  and  supporting  emotion 
—  it  is  fruition  ;  and  its  good  effect  upon  the  character, 
when  freed  of  any  feeling  of  avarice,  is  hardly  estimable, 
and  is  not  to  be  depreciated.  That  nature,  somebody 
has  said,  is  the  nearest  complete  which  has  the  delicate 
touch,  the  sheltered  fineness,  and  the  sweet  calmness  of 
good  circumstances,  with  the  robust  habit  of  exertion, 
and  experiences  of  the  realities  of  poverty ;  and  such 
natures  we  believe  to  be  found  especially  in  America. 

"  I  affirm,"  says  Sterne,  in  one  of  his  sermons,  "  that 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  32 1 

it  is  not  riches  which  are  the  cause  of  luxury,  —  but  the 
corrupt  calculation  of  the  world,  in  making  riches  the 
balance  for  honor,  for  virtue,  and  for  every  thing  that  is 
great  and  good  ;  which  goads  so  many  thousands  on  with 
an  affectation  of  possessing  more  than  they  have,  and 
consequently  in  engaging  in  a  system  of  expenses  they 
cannot  support.  In  one  word,  't  is  the  necessity  of  ap- 
pearing to  be  some  body,  in  order  to  be  so,  which  ruins 
the  world." 

"  Pay  as  you  go,"  said  John  Randolph,  "  is  the  philos- 
opher's stone."  "I  always  say  to  young  people  (says 
Sydney  Smith),  Beware  of  carelessness  !  no  fortune  will 
stand  it  long ;  you  are  on  the  high  road  to  ruin  the  mo- 
ment you  think  yourself  rich  enough  to  be  careless." 
"  Economy,"  said  Voltaire,  "  is  the  source  of  liberality." 
Thackeray,  commending  Macaulay's  frugality,  admon- 
ishes :  "  To  save  be  your  endeavor,  against  the  night's 
coming,  when  no  man  may  work  ;  when  the  arm  is  weary 
with  long  day's  labor;  when  the  brain  perhaps  grows 
dark ;  when  the  old,  who  can  labor  no  more,  want  warmth 
and  rest,  and  the  young  ones  call  for  supper."  Crabb 
Robinson  was  industrious  and  frugal  that  he  might  with- 
draw from  his  profession  in  time  (as  Wordsworth  ex- 
pressed it)  "  for  an  autumnal  harvest  of  leisure."  An 
aged  husbandman,  according  to  the  German  allegory,  was 
working  in  his  rich  and  wide-spread  fields,  at  the  decline 
of  day,  when  he  was  suddenly  confronted  by  a  spectral 
illusion,  in  the  form  of  a  man.  "Who,  and  what  are 
you  ? "  said  the  astonished  husbandman.  "  I  am  Solo- 
pion,  the  wise,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  have  come  to  in- 
quire what  you  are  laboring  for  ? "  "  If  you  are  Solo- 
mon," said  the  husbandman,  "  you  ought  to  know  that  I 
am  following  out  the  advice  you  have  given.  You  re- 
ferred me  to  the  ant  for  instruction,  and  hence  my  toil." 
"  You  have,"  said  the  apparition,  "  learnt  but  half  your 
lesson ;  I  directed  you  to  labor  in  the  proper  season  for 


322  CHARACTERISTICS. 

labor,  in  order  that  you  might  repose  in  the  proper  sea- 
son for  repose." 

An  economist,  or  a  man  (says  Emerson)  who  can  pro- 
portion his  means  and  his  ambition,  or  bring  the  year 
round  with  expenditure  which  expresses  his  character, 
without  embarrassing  one  day  of  his  future,  is  already  a 
master  of  life,  and  a  freeman.  Lord  Burleigh  writes  to 
his  son  that  one  ought  never  to  devote  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  his  income  to  the  ordinary  expenses  of  life,  since 
the  extraordinary  will  be  certain  to  absorb  the  other 
third. 

A  good  illustration  of  the  ethics  of  debt  is  to  be  found 
in  Haydon's  life-long  habit,  which  was,  "  to  scheme  a 
great  work,  requiring  years  of  labor,  without  money  of 
his  own  to  carry  him  on  a  month ;  to  borrow,  right  and 
left,  as  he  went  on,  leaving,  at  the  same  time,  his  land- 
lord and  his  tradesmen  unpaid ;  to  defy  or  pacify,  as  best 
be  could,  the  clamor  of  creditors  who  thus  gathered 
round  his  painting  room  ;  and  then,  when  the  work  was 
finished  and  sold,  to  clear  off  as  much  of  his  debt  as  the 
price  would  allow,  leave  himself  penniless,  or  nearly  so, 
and  begin  the  same  process  over  again.  The  result  was 
forty  years  of  ceaseless  bra^gardism  and  unrest,  and  a 
wreck  at  last."  Cooke,  who  translated  Hesiod,  lived 
twenty  years  on  a  translation  of  Plautus,  for  which  he 
was  always  taking  subscriptions.  Paschal,  historiographer 
of  France,  was  continually  announcing  titles  of  works  he 
was  preparing  for  the  press,  that  his  pension  for  writing 
on  the  history  of  France  might  not  be  stopped.  When 
he  died,  his  historical  labors  did  not  exceed  six  pages  ! 

It  was  a  saying  of  Aristotle,  that  some  men  are  as 
stingy  as  if  they  expected  to  live  forever,  and  some  as 
extravagant  as  if  they  expected  to  die  immediately.  In 
the  buried  city  of  Pompeii,  near  the  temple  of  Isis,  was 
found  a  prostrate  skeleton,  and  in  its  hand  were  clutched 
three  hundred  and   sixty  coins  of  silver,   forty-two   of 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  323 

bronze,  and  eight  of  gold,  wrapped  securely  in  a  cloth. 
He  had  stopped  before  his  flight  to  load  himself  with  the 
treasures  of  the  temple,  and  was  overtaken  by  the  shower 
of  cinders  and  suffocated. 

It  has  been  remarked  by  an  acute  writer,  that  as  to  the 
individual  it  may  sometimes  be  questioned,  whether  a 
prudent  temperament  secures  as  much  of  happiness, 
taking  all  the  years  of  life  together,  as  a  -careless  and 
impulsive  one.  Of  all  dreary  disillusions,  the  dreariest 
must  be  that  of  the  rich  old  man,  who  has  denied  him- 
self every  pleasure  while  he  had  senses  and  emotions  to 
taste  it,  and  sits  down  to  partake  at  the  eleventh  hour  of 
the  feast  of  life,  when  appetite  is  dead,  and  love  has  fled, 
and  disease  lays  its  grip  on  him,  and  reminds  him  that  it 
is  time  to  go  to  that  bed  which  all  his  balance  at  the 
banker's  can  unfortunately  make  neither  more  warm  nor 
soft.  But  however  it  may  be  for  the  man  himself,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  the  fewer  prudent  and  frugal  per- 
sons there  are  in  any  country,  so  much  the  less  prosper- 
ous that  country  will  be ;  and  thus  it  comes  to  pass  that 
the  land  where  the  principle  of  wine  to-day,  water  to- 
morrow, has  too  many  adherents,  is  (other  potent  causes 
aiding  to  the  result)  in  the  condition  Ireland  has  been  for 
centuries  back. 

A  man  is  said  to  be  rich  in  proportion  to  the  number 
of  things  which  he  can  afford  to  let  alone.  You  remem- 
ber the  remark  of  the  old  philosopher,  when  passing 
through  the  crowded  bazaar  where  every  thing  attractive 
and  costly  was  displayed  for  sale  :  "  How  many  things 
there  are  in  this  world  that  I  do  not  want !  "  A  certain 
Chinese  mandarin,  who  delighted  in  covering  his  richly 
dressed  person  with  precious  stones,  was  one  day  accosted 
in  the  streets  of  Pekin  by  a  priest  of  the  sect  of  Fohi, 
who,  bowing  very  low,  thanked  him  for  his  jewels. 
"  What  does  the  man  mean  ?  "  cried  the  mandarin.  "  I 
never  gave  thee  any  of  my  jewels."     "  No,"  replied  the 


324  CHARACTERISTICS. 

other;  "but  you  let  me  look  at  them,  and  that  is  all  the 
use  you  can  make  of  them  yourself ;  so  there  is  no  differ- 
ence between  us,  except  that  you  have  the  trouble  of 
watching  them,  and  that  is  an  employment  I  do  not 
want."  You  recollect  the  odd  way  the  old  bookkeeper 
had  of  enjoying  the  vast  possessions  of  the  rich  old  mer- 
chant. Bourne  owned  the  fences  and  the  dirt,  Titbottom 
the  sky  and  the  landscape.  "  I  don't  hesitate  to  say," 
said  Thomas  Hughes  (adopting  an  observation  of  John 
Sterling),  "  that  the  worst  education  which  teaches  sim- 
plicity and  self-denial  is  better  than  the  best  which 
teaches  all  else  but  this." 

"  Get  of  gold,"  says  the  Koran,  "  as  much  as  you  need, 
of  wisdom  all  that  you  can."  With  all  that  you  can  com- 
mand of  either,  happiness  will  not  abide.  "  Who  can 
tell  where  happiness  may  come ;  or  where,  though  an  ex- 
pected guest,  it  may  never  show  its  face?"  A  well- 
known  divine,  in  his  wise  old  age,  once  said  to  a  newly 
married  pair :  "  I  want  to  give  you  this  advice,  my  chil- 
dren —  don't  try  to  be  happy.  Happiness  is  a  shy  nymph, 
and  if  you  chase  her  you  will  never  catch  her ;  but  just  go 
quietly  on,  and  do  your  duty,  and  she  will  come  to  you." 

To  enjoy  the  present,  without  regret  for  the  past  or  so- 
licitude for  the  future,  appeared  to  Goldsmith  to  be  the 
only  general  precept  respecting  the  pursuit  of  happiness 
that  can  be  applied  with  propriety  to  any  condition  of  life. 
"  The  whole  art  of  life,"  wrote  Sir  William  Hamilton,  "  is 
really  to  live  all  the  days  of  our  life  ;  and  not  with  anx- 
ious care  disturb  the  sweetest  hour  that  life  affords, — 
which  is  the  present." 

"  Moderation  and  prudence  in  conduct,"  says  La  Bruy- 
^re,  "  leave  man  obscure.  To  be  known  and  admired, 
't  is  necessary  to  have  great  virtues,  or,  what  is  perhaps 
equal,  great  vices."  Boswell's  servant,  who  went  with 
him  and  Dr.  Johnson  to  the  Hebrides,  had  traveled  over 
a  great  part  of  Europe,   and   spoke  many  languages. 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  32$ 

Johnson,  who  seldom  applied  the  epithet  to  any  one,  pro- 
nounced him  a  "  wise  man."  It  has  been  said  by  a  man 
of  a  genius  and  a  renown  so  great  as  to  render  his  saying 
the  more  remarkable,  that  if  we  could  become  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  biography  of  any  one  who  has 
achieved  fame,  we  should  find  that  he  had  met  with  some 
person  to  fame  unknown,  whose  intellect  had  impressed 
him  more  than  that  of  any  of  the  celebrated  competitors 
with  whom  it  had  been  his  lot  to  strive.  A  startling 
effect  is  produced  upon  us,  it  has  also  been  truly  ob- 
served, when  we  suddenly  become  acquainted  with  a 
remarkable  person  whom  we  have  never  seen  or  heard 
of,  yet  who  has  been  long  living  in  the  world  and  long 
laboring  in  it ;  and  who,  as  we  feel  at  once,  must  have 
exercised  for  all  that  time  a  strong  intellectual  influence 
in  circles  of  which  we  did  not  know  the  existence. 

Forecast  is  as  good  as  work,  is  an  English  proverb. 
A  man  should  know  his  opportunity,  and  seize  it  when 
it  comes.  "  A  dwarf  may  be  carried  on  the  crest  of  a 
wave  to  the  top  of  a  cliff,  which  a  giant  could  not  climb 
from  the  beach."  Vigilance  and  adaptability  are  nearly 
all  to  the  ordinary  man.  The  Persians  have  it  that  a  poor 
man  watched  a  thousand  years  before  the  gate  of  Para- 
dise. Then,  when  he  snatched  one  little  nap, —  it  opened 
and  shut.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  returned  with  broken 
health  to  England  from  India,  where  he  had  been  judge 
of  the  admiralty  court,  and  recorder  of  Bombay.  *'  He 
had  been  to  El  Dorado,  but  had  forgotten  the  gold ;  and 
was  obliged  to  confess  to  his  friends  that  he  was  ashamed 
of  his  poverty,  since  it  showed  a  want  of  common  sense." 
"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Gargantua's  instructor,  "  that  we 
pursue  the  enemy  whilst  the  luck  is  on  our  side ;  for 
Occasion  hath  all  her  hair  on  her  forehead ;  when  she  is 
past  you  may  not  recall  her,  —  she  hath  no  tuft  whereby 
you  can  lay  hold  on  her,  for  she  is  bald  in  the  hinder  part 
of  the  head,  and  never  returneth  again." 


326  CHARACTERISTICS. 

*"  It  is  a  maxim  worthy  of  all  acceptation,"  says  Emer- 
son, "  that  a  man  may  have  that  allowance  he  takes. 
Take  the  place  and  attitude  which  belong  to  you,  and  all 
men  acquiesce.  The  world  must  be  just.  It  leaves  every 
man  with  profound  unconcern,  to  set  his  own  rate."  "  So 
soon  as  you  feel  confidence  in  yourself,"  said  Mephis- 
tbpheles  to  Faust,  "  you  know  the  art  of  life."  Half  the 
failures  in  life,  it  is  affirmed,  arise  from  pulling  in  one's 
horse  as  he  is  leaping.  We  are  pusillanimously  afraid  of 
ourselves.  Alexander  perceived  that  the  fury  of  Buceph- 
alus proceeded  merely  from  the  fear  he  had  of  his  own 
shadow,  whereupon,  getting  on  his  back,  he  ran  him 
against  the  sun,  so  that  the  shadow  fell  behind,  and  by 
that  means  he  tamed  the  animal.  "Walking  along  Picca- 
dilly with  Sheridan,"  says  Kelly,  "  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
told  the  Queen  that  he  was  writing  a  play.  He  said  he 
had,  and  he  was  actually  about  one.  *  Not  you,'  said  I  to 
him  ;  *  you  will  never  write  again ;  you  are  afraid  to  write.' 
*  Of  whom  am  I  afraid  ? '  said  he,  fixing  his  penetrating 
eye  on  me.  I  said,  '  You  are  afraid  of  the  author  of  the 
School  for  Scandal.' "  But  it  is  recorded  of  Guido,  whose 
paintings  were  much  sought  after,  that  from  mere  good- 
nature and  a  desire  to  help  unsuccessful  artists,  he  al- 
lowed imitations  to  be  made  of  his  works,  to  which  he 
added  one  or  two  touches,  that  they  might  be  sold  as  his 
productions.  Is  there  any  where  to  be  found  such  an- 
other instance  of  liberality  at  the  risk  of  a  great  repu- 
tation ? 

Character  and  powers,  early  and  late,  do  not  much 
vary.  The  inspiration  of  purpose,  and  work,  very  soon 
establish  personality.  Can  any  man  remember  when  the 
radically  distinguishing  things  he  stands  for  first  took  root 
within  him  ?  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  when  he  was  sixteen 
years  old,  sent  forth,  we  are  told,  the  first  number  of  The 
Spectator,  a  small  but  neatly  printed  and  well  edited 
paper.     A  prospectus  had  been  issued  only  the  week  be- 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  327 

fore,  setting  forth  that  The  Spectator  would  be  issued  on 
Wednesdays,  "  price  twelve  cents  per  annum,  payment  to 
be  made  at  the  end  of  the  year."  Among  the  advertise- 
ments on  the  last  page  was  the  following :  "  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne  proposes  to  publish,  by  subscription,  a  neat 
edition  of  The  Miseries  of  Authors,  to  which  will  be 
added  a  sequel  containing  facts  and  remarks  drawn  from 
his  own  experience."  The  Hawthorne  of  The  Scarlet  Let- 
ter already  existed.  An  oration  delivered  by  Daniel  Web- 
ster, July  4, 1802, —  then  twenty  years  old,  and  principal  of 
Fryeburg  Academy, —  was  recently  discovered  in  a  mass 
of  the  author's  private  papers  which  had  found  their  way 
into  a  junk  shop.  The  last  speech  made  by  Mr.  Webster 
in  the  Senate,  July  17,  1850,  concluded  with  the  same 
peroration  with  which  he  closed  the  Fryeburg  oration, 
forty-eight  years  before ! 

Do  you  remember  the  words  that  young  Carlyle  wrote 
to  his  brother,  nine  years  after  he  had  left  the  University 
of  Edinburgh  as  a  student,  forty-three  years  before  he 
returned  as  its  Rector ?  "I  say.  Jack,  thou  and  I  must 
never  falter.  Work,  my  boy,  work  unweariedly.  I  swear 
that  all  the  thousand  miseries  of  this  hard  fight,  and  ill- 
health,  the  most  terrific  of  them  all,  shall  never  chain  us 
down.  By  the  river  Styx  it  shall  not.  Two  fellows  from 
a  nameless  spot  in  Annandale  shall  yet  show  the  world 
the  pluck  that  is  in  the  Carlyles." 

"  There  are  three  things,  young  gentleman,"  said  Nel- 
son to  one  of  his  midshipmen,  "  which  you  are  constantly 
to  bear  in  mind.  Firstly,  you  must  always  implicitly  obey 
orders,  without  attempting  to  form  any  opinion  of  your 
own  respecting  their  propriety.  Secondly,  you  must  con- 
sider every  man  your  enemy  who  speaks  ill  of  your  king. 
Thirdly,  you  must  hate  a  Frenchman  as  you  do  the 
devil." 

A  young  student  asked  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs  how  he  should 
learn  his   profession.     Sir  Vicary :    "  Read  Coke  upon 


328  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Littleton."  Student :  "  I  have  read  Coke  upon  Little- 
ton." Sir  Vicary :  "  Read  Coke  upon  Littleton  over 
again."  Student :  *'  I  have  read  it  thrice  over."  Sir 
Vicary :  "  Thrice } "  Student :  "  Yes  ;  three  times  over 
very  carefully."  Sir  Vicary:  "You  may  now  sit  down 
and  make  an  abstract  of  it." 

"  What  a  wedge,  what  a  beetle,  what  a  catapult,"  ex- 
claims Thoreau,  "  is  an  earnest  man  !  What  can  resist 
him  ? "  In  1849,  at  the  time  of  general  depression  in 
Garibaldi's  Italian  Revolutionary  army,  he  issued  this 
proclamation:  "In  recompense  for  the  love  you  may 
show  your  country  I  offer  you  hunger,  thirst,  cold,  war, 
and  death  ;  who  accepts  these  terms,  let  him  follow  me." 
"The  Puritans,"  says  Macaulay,  "even  in  the  depths  of 
the  prisons  to  which  Elizabeth  had  sent  them,  prayed, 
and  with  no  simulated  fervor,  that  she  might  be  kept  from 
the  dagger  of  the  assassin,  that  rebellion  might  be  put 
down  under  her  feet,  and  that  her  arms  might  be  victori- 
ous by  sea  and  land.  One  of  the  most  stubborn  of  the 
stubborn  sect,  immediately  after  one  of  his  hands  had 
been  lopped  off  by  the  executioner  for  an  offense  into 
which  he  had  been  hurried  by  his  intemperate  zeal, 
waved  his  hat  with  the  hand  which  was  still  left  him,  and 
shouted,  God  save  the  Queen  !  " 

While  General  Jackson  was  President,  the  small-pox 
broke  out  among  his  servants,  and  nearly  every  body 
fled ;  but  the  President  remained  in  the  White  House, 
and  waited  on  black  and  white  with  unremitting  attention. 
He  did  not  leave  them  wholly  to  the  protection  of  Prov- 
idence and  inefficient  help  —  he  helped  them  himself. 
Just  before  going  into  battle.  Nelson  wrote  to  his  wife : 
"  The  lives  of  all  are  in  the  hands  of  Him  who  knows 
best  whether  to  preserve  mine  or  not ;  my  character  and 
good  name  are  in  my  own  keeping."  After  a  day's  weary 
march,  Mahomet  was  camping  with  his  followers.  One 
said,  "  I  will  loose  my  camel  and  commit  it  to  God." 
"  Friend,  tie  thy  camel,  and  commit  it  to  God." 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  329 

"  In  manners,"  said  Madame  de  Maintenon, "  tranquillity 
is  the  supreme  power."  Goethe,  in  a  note  to  Eckermann, 
refers  to  that  "  state  of  tranquil  activity,  from  which  views 
of  the  world  and  experiences  are  evolved  in  the  surest  and 
purest  manner."  It  so  often  happens,  it  is  observed,  that 
mere  activity  is  a  waste  of  time,  that  people  who  have  a 
morbid  habit  of  being  busy  are  often  terrible  time-wast- 
ers, whilst,  on  the  contrary,  those  who  are  judiciously 
deliberate,  and  allow  themselves  intervals  of  leisure,  see 
the  way  before  them  in  those  intervals,  and  save  time  by 
the  accuracy  of  their  calculations. 

The  self-possession  which  distinguished  Romilly  is  an 
invariable  characteristic  of  a  truly  great  mind.  Lord 
Chesterfield  used  to  say  of  a  person  in  a  hurry  that  he 
plainly  showed  his  business  was  too  much  for  him.  The 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  commemorated  in  Humphry  Clinker, 
was  always  in  a  hurry.  It  used  to  be  said  of  him  that 
he  had  lost  one  hour  in  the  morning  which  he  was  look- 
ing for  during  the  rest  of  the  day.  When  Nelson  had 
finished  his  famous  despatch  to  the  Crown  Prince  of  Den- 
mark, at  the  battle  of  Copenhagen,  a  wafer  was  given 
him  to  seal  it  with ;  but  he  ordered  a  candle  to  be 
brought  from  the  cock-pit,  and  sealed  the  letter  with  wax, 
affixing  a  larger  seal  than  he  ordinarily  used.  "  This," 
said  he,  "  is  no  time  to  appear  hurried  and  informal."  "  I 
remember  a  small  Mussulman  boy,"  says  an  officer,  in 
his  published  Recollections  of  Military  Service  in  India, 
"  one  of  our  servants,  lying  on  the  veranda,  apparently 
asleep,  when,  to  our  horror,  we  saw  a  cobra  creep  out  of 
a  lot  of  boots  lying  near,  which  the  boy  had  been  clean- 
ing. The  cobra  passed  over  his  face,  and  actually  darted 
his  fork  in  and  out  of  his  open  mouth.  The  boy  never 
stirred,  and  we  remarked  how  providential  it  was  that  he 
was  fast  asleep.  The  snake  after  a  time  glided  off,  when 
the  boy  jumped  up,  and  seized  a  stick,  and  killed  it. 
He  had  been  awake  all  the  time," 


330  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Mirabeau  is  described  by  Carlyle  as  a  man  stout  of 
heart ;  whose  popularity  was  not  of  the  populace,  whom 
no  clamor  of  unwashed  mobs  without  doors,  or  of  washed 
mobs  within,  could  scare  from  his  way.  Dumont  remem- 
bers hearing  him  deliver  a  Report  on  Marseilles :  "  every 
word  was  interrupted  by  abusive  epithets ;  caluminator, 
liar,  assassin,  scoundrel :  Mirabeau  pauses  a  moment, 
and,  in  a  honeyed  tone,  addressing  the  most  furious, 
says :  *  I  wait.  Messieurs,  till  these  amenities  be  ex- 
hausted.' "  "  Oliver  Cromwell,  when  that  agitator  Ser- 
jeant stept  forth  from  the  ranks,  with  plea  of  grievances, 
and  began  gesticulating  and  demonstrating,  as  the  mouth- 
piece of  thousands,  expectant  there,  —  discerned,  with 
those  truculent  eyes  of  his,  how  the  matter  lay, —  plucked 
a  pistol  from  his  holsters;  blew  agitator  and  agitation 
instantly  out.  Noll  was  a  man  fit  for  these  things."  "  It 
is  false,"  said  Napoleon,  "  that  we  fired  first  with  blank 
charge ;  it  had  been  a  waste  of  life  to  do  that.  .  .  .  The 
French  Revolution  is  blown  into  space  by  it."  It  is 
stated  that  at  one  of  the  judicial  sittings  in  Tunis,  a 
Moor  approached  the  throne  silently,  holding  a  large 
sack  in  his  hand,  out  of  which  rolled  two  human  heads, 
bleeding,  one  a  man's,  the  other  a  woman's.  The  Bey 
looked  first  at  the  heads,  then  at  the  Moor,  and  without 
saying  a  word,  made  the  sign  which  meant  acquittal.  It 
was  simply  a  husband  who  discovered  his  wife  was  de- 
ceiving him. 

"  A  stream,"  says  Landor,  "  is  never  so  smooth,  equa- 
ble, and  silvery,  as  at  the  instant  before  it  becomes  a 
cataract.  The  children  of  Niobe  fell  by  the  arrows  of 
Diana,  under  a  bright  and  cloudless  sky."  Mark  the 
quiet  of  an  animal  before  the  fatal  spring,  and  how  se- 
rene and  fair  is  the  complexion  of  determined  rage. 

Genuine  repose  is  unconscious.  Leigh  Hunt  said  of 
Sir  William  Temple,  "  I  believe  he  talks  too  much  of  his 
ease,  to  be  considered  very  easy.  It  is  an  ill  head  that 
takes  so  much  concern  about  its  pillow." 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  33 1 

Barnes,  editor  of  the  Times  newspaper,  related  to 
Crabb  Robinson  that  at  Cambridge,  having  had  lessons 
from  a  boxer,  he  gave  himself  airs,  and  meeting  with  a 
fellow  sitting  on  a  stile  in  a  field,  who  did  not  make  way 
for  him  as  he  expected,  and  as  he  thought  due  to  a 
gownsman,  he  asked  what  he  meant,  and  said  he  had  a 
great  mind  to  thrash  him.  "The  man  smiled,"  said 
Barnes,  "  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  said,  '  Young 
man,  I  'm  Cribb.'  I  confessed  myself  delighted ;  gave 
him  my  hand  ;  took  him  to  my  room,  where  I  had  a  wine- 
party,  and  he  was  the  lion. "  Cribb  was  at  that  time  the 
champion  of  England!  The  same  writer  refers,  in  his 
Diary,  to  another  "  most  interesting  party  "  at  Lord  Ken- 
yon's.  "  The  lion  of  the  party,"  he  says  (on  that  occasion, 
of  quite  another  sort),  "  was  Daniel  Webster,  the  American 
lawyer  and  orator.  He  has  a  strongly  marked  expression 
of  countenance.  So  far  from  being  a  Republican  in  the 
modern  sense,  he  has  an  air  of  Imperial  strength,  such  as 
Caesar  might  have  had."  When  Jenny  Lind  was  in  Boston, 
Mr.  Webster  called  upon  her.  It  is  said  he  talked  sound 
sense  to  her,  with  dignity  and  stately  courtesy.  When  he 
was  gone,  Jenny  jumped  up,  walked  the  floor  excitedly, 
clasped  her  hands,  and  with  indescribable  earnestness, 
exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  that  is  a  man  !  that  is  a  man  !  I  never 
saw  a  man  before  !  I  never  saw  a  man  before  !  " 

How  the  "  godlike  Daniel  "  would  have  been  stirred  by 
the  ecstatic  praises  of  the  sweet  songstress  !  We  all  like 
to  be  appreciated.  Sterne,  in  replying  to  the  panegyrics 
of  a  person  who  called  himself  Ignatius  Sancho,  says  very 
truly,  "  'T  is  all  affectation  to  say  a  man  is  not  gratified 
with  being  praised.  We  only  want  it  to  be  sincere."  It 
is  a  maxim  of  Vauvenargues',  "  If  men  did  not  flatter  one 
another  there  would  be  little  society  ; "  and  it  is  a  mean- 
ness, we  say,  to  be  suspecting  the  motive. 

"  It  was  a  maxim  with  Foxey,  our  reverend  father," 
said  Brass  (in  Old  Curiosity  Shop)  to  his  sister  Sarah,  — 


332  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  *  Always  suspect  every  body.'  That 's  the  maxim  to  go 
through  Hfe  with."  Dickens  moralizes  upon  the  detesta- 
ble character  he  was  delineating :  "  It  will  always  happen 
that  men  of  the  world,  who  go  through  it  in  armor,  defend 
themselves  from  quite  as  much  good  as  evil ;  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  inconvenience  and  absurdity  of  mounting  guard 
with  a  microscope  at  all  times,  and  of  wearing  a  coat  of 
mail  on  the  most  innocent  occasions."  The  very  bad  or 
desperately  vicious,  fortunately,  is  exceptional.  Interest, 
instinct,  and  reason  are  united  against  it.  God  and  na- 
ture forbid  it.  It  must  be  rare,  and  it  must  generally  fail 
of  its  purpose,  if  man  and  society  are  to  exist  and  be  se- 
cure. Courage  and  virtue,  therefore,  are  not  diverted  by 
it  or  alarmed.  Some  time  before  the  battle  of  Dunbar,  as 
Cromwell,  accompanied  by  a  number  of  his  officers,  was 
visiting  the  ground,  a  Scotch  soldier,  who  had  hidden  be- 
hind a  wall  which  surrounded  the  field,  fired  at  him,  miss- 
ing his  mark.  Without  being  alarmed,  and  without  in- 
creasing the  gait  of  his  horse,  Cromwell  went  toward  the 
Scotchman,  and  said,  "  Bungling  rogue !  if  one  of  my  sol- 
diers had  failed  in  an  end  so  important,  he  would  soon 
be  Judged  by  a  council  of  war." 

Flattery,  that  is  evil,  and  conspiracy,  are  illustrated  in 
the  manner  in  which  the  Arabs  capture  the  hyena.  Its 
subterranean  abode  is  described  as  so  narrow  as  not  to 
permit  of  the  animal  turning  about  in  it ;  and  hence,  to 
use  the  Arabian  phraseology,  it  has  "  two  doors,"  by  one 
of  which  it  enters,  and  by  the  other  goes  out.  The  Arabs, 
lying  concealed  in  the  vicinity  of  one  of  these  dens,  watch 
the  particular  hole  by  which  the  hyena  enters,  and  then 
proceed  to  place  a  strong  rope  net  over  the  opposite  hole, 
—  whilst  one  of  their  fraternity,  skilled  in  the  business, 
and  prepared  with  a  rope,  works  his  way  in  by  "  the 
door  "  which  the  animal  has  entered.  As  he  nears  the 
brute  (which  cannot  turn  upon  him)  he  "  charms  it,"  say- 
ing, "  Come,  my  dear  little  creature,  I  will  lead  you  to 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  333 

places  where  many  carcasses  are  prepared  for  you  — 
plenty  of  food  awaits  you.  Let  me  fasten  this  rope  to 
your  beautiful  leg,  anti  stand  quiet  while  I  do  so."  This 
sentence,  or  something  very  similar  to  it,  is  repeated  un- 
til the  operation  is  effectually  achieved ;  when  the  daring 
son  of  the  Sahara  gores  the  brute  with  a  dagger  till  he 
is  forced  to  rush  out,  and  he  is  caught  in  the  net,  and 
either  killed  on  the  spot  or  is  carried  off  alive.  If  any 
blunder  happens,  however  —  as  is  sometimes  the  case  — 
through  which  the  hyena  is  enabled  to  struggle  and  re- 
enter its  abode,  the  "  charmer,"  in  spite  of  his  charming, 
falls  a  victim  to  its  savage  rage,  and  frequently  his  com- 
panions can  scarcely  contrive  to  get  clear  without  feeling 
something  of  its  effects. 

It  is  pronounced  a  characteristic  of  wisdom  not  to  dis- 
pute things.  "There  is,"  says  Sherlock,  "no  dispute 
managed  without  passion,  and  yet  there  is  scarce  a  dis- 
pute worth  a  passion."  A  modern  English  writer  is  said 
to  have  been  very  fond  of  controversy  for  its  own  sake, 
and  once  at  dinner  to  have  roared  out  to  some  one  at  the 
end  of  the  table,  "  I  totally  disagree  with  you.  What  was 
it  you  said  ?  "  On  one  occasion,  when  they  were  to- 
gether, Dr.  Campbell  said  something,  and  Dr.  Johnson  be- 
gan to  dispute  it.  "  Come,"  said  Campbell,  "we  do  not 
want  to  get  the  better  of  one  another ;  we  want  to  increase 
each  other's  ideas."  Johnson  took  it  in  good  part,  and 
the  conversation  then  went  on  coolly  and  instructively. 
When  the  erudite  Casaubon  visited  the  Sorbonne  they 
showed  him  the  hall  in  which,  as  they  proudly  told  him, 
disputations  had  been  held  for  four  hundred  years. 
"  And  what,"  said  he,  "  have  they  decided  ?  "  On  first 
nights,  in  the  time  of  Voltaire,  when  partisans  were  un- 
usually excited,  each  spectator  was  asked,  as  he  entered 
the  parquette,  "  Do  you  come  to  hiss  ?  "  "  Yes."  "  Then 
sit  over  there."  But  if  he  answered,  "I  come  to  ap- 
plaud," he  was  directed  to  the  other  side.  Thus  the  two 
belligerent  bodies  were  massed  for  more  effective  action. 


334  CHARACTERISTICS. 

The  young  Smiths,  we  are  told,  employed  their  infor- 
mation in  disputing  with  one  another.  "  The  result," 
says  Sydney,  "  was  to  make  us  the  most  intolerable  and 
overbearing  set  of  boys  that  can  well  be  imagined,  till 
later  in  life  we  found  our  level  in  the  world."  Franklin 
relates  that  he  had  contracted  in  youth  the  same  litigious 
habit  by  reading  the  controversial  books  on  religion  which 
formed  his  father's  little  library.  "  Persons,"  he  adds, 
"of  good  sense,  I  have  since  observed,  seldom  fall  into 
it,  except  lawyers,  university  men,  and  generally  men  of 
all  sorts  who  have  been  bred  in  Edinburgh."  It  would 
perhaps  have  been  juster  to  say,  that  persons  of  good 
sense,  like  himself  and  Sydney  Smith,  soon  discover  that 
the  practice  is  displeasing,  and  lay  it  aside.  "  We  are 
told,"  says  Sydney  further,  "  *  Let  not  the  sun  go  down  on 
your  wrath.'  This,  of  course,  is  best ;  but,  as  it  gener- 
ally does,  I  would  add.  Never  act  or  write  till  it  has  done 
so.  This  rule  has  saved  me  from  many  an  act  of  folly. 
It  is  wonderful  what  a  different  view  we  take  of  the  same 
event  four  and  twenty  hours  after  it  has  happened." 

"  I  asserted  that  the  world  was  mad,"  exclaimed  a  poor 
philosopher,  "  and  the  world  said  that  I  was  mad,  and, 
confound  them,  they  outvoted  me."  In  Hawthorne's  Amer- 
ican Note-Books  a  memorandum  is  made  of  a  sketch  to  be 
given  of  a  modern  reformer.  "  He  goes  about  the  streets 
haranguing  most  eloquently,  and  is  on  the  point  of  mak- 
ing many  converts,  when  his  labors  are  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  the  appearance  of  the  keeper  of  a  mad-house, 
whence  he  had  escaped." 

^  A  thick-headed  squire  being  worsted  by  Sydney  Smith 
in  an  argument,  took  his  revenge  by  exclaiming  :  "  If  I 
had  a  son  that  was  an  idiot,  by  Jove,  I  'd  make  him  a 
parson."  "  Very  probable,"  replied  Sydney  ;  "but  I  see 
your  father  was  of  a  very  different  mind." 

An  anecdote  which  Robert  Hall  told  of  himself  is  in- 
structive.    He  set  out  to  defend  the  doctrine  of  the  Trin- 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  335 

ity,  in  a  series  of  sermons.  In  prosecuting  the  discus- 
sion, he  attacked  the  various  forms  of  heretical  dissent 
from  the  orthodox  opinion.  At  the  conclusion  of  his 
discourses,  much  to  his  surprise,  he  discovered  that  there 
was  a  small  party  in  the  congregation  for  each  of  the  her- 
esies which  he  had  combated,  but  which  most  of  his 
hearers  had  probably  never  heard  of  before  he  made  his 
onset  upon  them.  One  should  be  sure,  before  he  raises 
the  devil,  that  he  is  able  to  lay  him. 

Many  people  work  themselves  up  by  disputation  some- 
what as  Macready  worked  himself  up  for  his  great  parts 
on  the  stage.  "  Mr.  Macready,  you  know,"  said  a  direc- 
tor of  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  "when  engaging  his 
dresser,  whom  I  knew  very  well,  arranged  that  when  he 
shook  him  he  should  pay  him  double  wages,  and  when 
he  struck  him  his  pay  should  be  trebled.  I  think  that 
dresser  used  to  get  treble  wages  all  the  while  Macready 
was  at  Drury  Lane.  I  went  once  to  Macready's  dressings 
room  during  the  performance.  The  tragedian  had  the 
dresser  in  the  corner  and  was  nearly  choking  him.  He 
was  rehearsing  his  part.  He  afterward  rushed  upon  the 
stage  and  startled  his  audience  by  his  brilliant  acting." 

You  doubtless  recollect  Voltaire's  definition  of  a  phy- 
sician—  an  unfortunate  gentleman,  expected  every  day  to 
perform  a  miracle,  —  namely,  to  reconcile  health  with  in- 
temperance. Emerson  speaks  of  the  unhappy  condition 
where  brains  are  paralyzed  by  stomach.  A  celebrated 
French  physician,  the  first  time  he  was  called  into  a 
house,  always  began  by  running  into  the  kitchen,  embrac- 
ing the  cook,  and  thanking  him  for  a  new  patient. 
"There  was  a  Lord  Russell,"  said  Pope  to  Spence, 
"who,  by  living  too  luxuriously,  had  quite  spoiled  his 
constitution.  He  did  not  love  sport,  but  used  to  go  out 
with  his  dogs  ever}^  day,  only  to  hunt  for  an  appetite.  If 
he  felt  any  thing  of  that,  he  would  cry  out,  '  Oh,  I  have 
found  it ! '  turn  short  round  and  ride  home  again,  though 


336  CHARACTERISTICS. 

they  were  in  the  midst  of  the  finest  chase.  It  was  this 
lord,  who,  when  he  met  a  beggar,  and  was  entreated  by 
him  to  give  him  something  because  he  was  almost  fam- 
ished with  hunger,  called  him  a  *  happy  dog ! '  and  envied 
him  too  much  to  relieve  him." 

Kinglake  describes  a  "  savagely  happy  "  party  he  saw, 
as  he  lay  one  night  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Jordan. 
"  A  little  distance  from  me,"  he  says,  "  the  Arabs  made 
a  fire,  round  which  they  sat  in  a  circle.  They  were  made 
most  savagely  happy  by  the  tobacco  with  which  I  sup- 
plied them,  and  they  had  determined  to  make  the  whole 
night  one  smoking  festival.  The  poor  fellows  had  only 
one  broken  bowl,  without  any  tube  at  all,  but  this  morsel 
of  a  pipe  they  passed  round  from  one  to  the  other,  allow- 
ing to  each  a  fixed  number  of  whiffs.  In  this  way  they 
passed  the  whole  night." 

In  that  land  of  monotony  and  poverty,  a  very  little 
thing  is  a  great  event.  It  is  said  there  are  artisan  fami- 
lies in  India,  and  also  in  Damascus,  who  have  worked  at 
the  same  work  day  by  day  for  a  thousand  years ;  peasant 
families  who  have  not  only  tilled  the  same  fields,  but  have 
gone  into  them  and  left  them  at  the  same  hour,  according 
to  the  season,  from  a  period  before  the  birth  of  Christ. 
They  have  no  wish  for  change,  no  ambition  to  do  better, 
no  inclination  to  roam,  no  sense  of  failure  because  they 
are  as  their  forefathers  were,  and  as  their  sons  will  be. 
With  such  a  people,  any  extreme  is  but  natural  —  it  is 
philosophical.  "  If  we  throw  a  silver  coin  upon  a  table," 
says  Sir  Charles  Bell,  "  and  fix  the  eye  upon  the  centre 
of  it,  when  we  remove  the  coin  there  is,  for  a  moment, 
a  white  spot  in  its  place,  which  presently  becomes  deep 
black.  If  we  put  a  red  wafer  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
look  upon  it,  and  continue  to  keep  the  eye  fixed  on  the 
same  point,  upon  removing  the  wafer,  the  spot  where  it 
lay  on  the  white  paper  will  appear  green.  If  we  look 
upon  a  green  wafer  in  the  same  manner  and  remove  it, 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  33/ 

the  spot  will  be  red  ;  if  upon  blue  or  indigo,  the  paper 
will  appear  yellow.  These  phenomena  are  to  be  ex- 
plained by  considering  that  the  nerve  is  exhausted  by  the 
continuance  of  the  impression,  and  becomes  more  apt  to 
receive  sensation  from  an  opposite  color." 

"  The  most  exquisitely  delicate  artists  in  literature  and 
painting,"  says  a  writer  upon  The  Intellectual  Life,  "have 
frequently  had  reactions  of  incredible  coarseness.  With 
the  Chateaubriand  of  Atala  there  existed  an  obscene 
Chateaubriand  that  would  burst  forth  occasionally  in  talk 
that  no  biographer  would  repeat.  I  have  heard  (he  says) 
the  same  thing  of  the  sentimental  Lamartine.  We  know 
that  Turner,  dreamer  of  enchanted  landscapes,  took  the 
pleasures  of  a  sailor  on  the  spree.  A  friend  said  to  me 
of  one  of  the  most  exquisite  living  geniuses :  *  You  can 
have  no  conception  of  the  coarseness  of  his  tastes ;  he 
associates  with  the  very  lowest  women,  and  enjoys  their 
rough  brutality.'  " 

It  has  been  remarked,  that  the  chief  lesson  of  the  lives 
of  Byron,  or  Shelley,  or  Burns,  is  how  much  their  inspi- 
ration cost ;  but  we  do  not  admire  the  inspiration  less  be- 
cause it  was  visibly  at  the  cost  of  the  life. 

Matthew  Bramble,  in  Humphry  Clinker,  writing  to  his 
old  friend,  Dr.  Lewis,  says :  "  I  begin  to  think  I  have  put 
myself  on  the  superannuated  list  too  soon,  and  absurdly 
sought  for  health  in  the  retreats  of  laziness.  I  am  per- 
suaded that  all  valetudinarians  are  too  sedentary,  too 
regular,  and  too  cautious.  We  should  sometimes  increase 
the  motion  of  the  machine,  to  unclog  the  wheels  of  life ; 
and  now  and  then  take  a  plunge  amidst  the  waves  of  ex- 
cess, in  order  to  case-harden  the  constitution.  I  have 
often  found  a  change  of  company  as  necessary  as  a 
change  of  air,  to  promote  a  vigorous  circulation  of  the 
spirits,  which  is  the  very  essence  and  criterion  of  good 
health."  Madame  de  Sdvigne  wrote  to  her  daughter,  "Be 
not  uneasy  about  my  health ;  the  rule  I  observe  at  present 

22 


338  CHARACTERISTICS. 

is,  to  be  irregular."     Luther  advised  a  young  scholar,  per- 
plexed with  foreordination  and  free-will,  to  get  well  drunk. 

The  night  air  was  thought  to  be  detrimental  to  the 
health  of  Theodore  Hook,  and  his  method  of  avoiding  it 
was  peculiar.  Planche  refers  to  it  in  a  pleasant  manner. 
"  It  was  day-break,"  says  the  dramatist,  "broad  daylight, 
in  fact,  before  we  separated.  I  had  given  an  imitation  of 
Edmund  Kean  and  Holland,  in  Maturin's  tragedy  of  Ber- 
tram, which  had  amused  Hook ;  and,  as  we  were  getting 
our  hats,  he  asked  me  where  I  lived.  On  my  answering 
'  at  Brompton,'  he  said,  *  Brompton  !  —  Why  that 's  in  my 
way  home  —  I  live  at  Fulham.  Jump  into  my  cabriolet, 
and  I  will  set  you  down.'  The  sun  of  a  fine  summer 
morning  was  rising  as  we  passed  Hyde  Park  Corner.  *  I 
have  been  very  ill,'  said  Hook,  'for  some  time,  and  my 
doctors  told  me  never  to  be  out  of  doors  after  dark,  as 
the  night  air  was  the  worst  thing  for  me.  I  have  taken 
their  advice.  I  driv^e  into  town  at  four  o'clock  every 
afternoon,  dine  at  Crockford's,  or  wherever  I  may  be  in- 
vited, and  never  go  home  till  this  time  in  the  morning.  I 
have  not  breathed  the  night  air  for  the  last  two  months.'  " 

It  is  reported  by  Suidas  that  there  was  a  great  book  of 
old,  of  King  Solomon's  writing,  which  contained  medi- 
cines for  all  manner  of  diseases,  and  lay  open  still  as  the 
people  came  into  the  temple ;  but  Hezekiah^  King  of 
Jerusalem,  caused  it  to  be  taken  away,  because  it  made  the 
people  secure,  to  neglect  their  duty  in  calling  and  relying 
upon  God,  out  of  a  confidence  in  those  remedies.  God's 
remedies  are  temperance,  exercise,  and  air.  "  Oh,  tem- 
perance !  "  apostrophizes  healthy  John  Buncle.  "Divine 
temperance  !  Thou  art  the  support  of  the  other  virtues, 
the  preserver  and  restorer  of  health,  and  the  protracter  of 
life  !  Thou  art  the  maintainer  of  the  dignity  and  liberty 
of  rational  beings,  from  the  wretched  inhuman  slavery  of 
sensuality,  taste,  custom,  and  example ;  and  the  bright- 
ener  of  the  understanding  and  memory !     Thou  art  the 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  339 

sweetener  of  life  and  all  its  comforts,  the  companion  of 
reason,  and  guard  of  the  passions !  Thou  art  the  bounti- 
ful rewarder  of  thy  admirers  and  followers,  thine  enemies 
praise  thee,  and  thy  friends  with  rapturous  pleasure  raise 
up  a  panegyric  in  thy  praise."  Andrew  Tiraqueau,  to 
whom  Rabelais  wrote  some  of  his  epistles,  is  said  (by  his 
biographer),  "  yearly  to  have  given  a  book,  and  by  one 
wife,  a  son  to  the  world,  during  thirty  years,  though  he 
never  drank  any  thing  but  water." 

"For  my  part,"  says  the  venerable  William  Howitt, 
"seeing  the  victims  [of  society  and  late  hours]  daily 
falling  around  me,  I  have  preferred  the  enjoyment  of  a 
sound  mind  in  a  sound  body,  the  blessings  of  a  quiet,  do- 
mestic life,  and  a  more  restricted,  but  not  less  enjoyable 
circle.  I  am  now  fast  approachmg  my  seventieth  year. 
I  cannot,  indeed,  say  that  I  have  reached  this  period, 
active  and  vigorous  as  I  am,  without  the  assistance  of  the 
doctors.  I  have  had  the  constant  attendance  of  four 
famous  ones  —  temperance,  exercise,  good  air,  and  good 
hours.  Often,  in  earliest  years,  I  labored  with  my  pen 
sixteen  hours  a  day.  I  never  omit  walking  three  or  four 
miles,  or  more,  in  all  weathers.  I  work  hard  in  my  gar- 
den, and  could  tire  down  a  tolerable  man  at  that  kind  of 
thing.  During  my  two  years'  travel  in  Australia,  when 
about  sixty,  I  walked,  often  under  a  burning  sun,  of  from 
one  hundred  and  twenty  to  one  hundred  and  thirty 
degrees  at  noon,  my  twenty  miles  a  day  for  days  and 
weeks  together ;  worked  at  digging  gold  in  great  heat  and 
against  young,  active  men  my  twelve^  hours  a  day,  some- 
times standing  in  a  track.  I  waded  through  rivers  —  for 
neither  man  nor  nature  had  made  many  bridges  —  and 
let  my  clothes  dry  upon  my  back  ;  washed  my  own  linen, 
made  and  baked  my  own  bread,  slept  constantly  under 
the  forest  tree,  and,  through  it  all  was  hearty  as  a  roach. 
And  how  did  I  manage  all  this,  not  only  with  ease,  but 
with  enjoyment?  Simply  because  I  avoided  spirituous 
liquors,  as  I  would  avoid  the  poison  of  an  asp." 


340  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  A  year  or  so  ago,"  said  Chief  Justice  Parsons,  "  while 
conversing  with  Dr.  James  Jackson,  I  happened  to  remark 
that,  at  my  age,  I  felt  as  if  one's  days  must  be  few,  and 
the  capacity  of  usefulness  well-nigh  exhausted.  '  You  mis- 
take there,'  said  he.  'At  sixty,  a  man  in  fair  health  may 
enter  upon  a  series  of  years  equal  in  usefulness  and  happi- 
ness to  those  of  any  period,  provided  proper  precautions 
are  taken  and  proper  habits  formed.'  And  upon  further 
inquiry  into  these  essentials  or  conditions,  I  found  he 
summed  them  up  in  *  employment  without  labor ;  exercise 
without  weariness  ;  temperance  without  abstinence.'  " 

It  was  the  opinion  of  Grattan  that  the  most  healthy 
exercise  for  elderly  persons  was  indolent  movement  in  the 
open  air. 

"  Nervousness,"  said  Hunt,  "  I  le'arned  to  prevent  by 
violent  exercise.  All  fits  of  nervousness  ought  to  be  an- 
ticipated as  much  as  possible  with  exercise.  Indeed,  a 
proper,  healthy  mode  of  life  would  save  most  people 
from  these  effeminate  ills,  and  most  likely  cure  even  their 
inheritors." 

Carlyle  records  one  of  his  walks.  "  At  8  p.  m.  I  got 
well  to  Dumfries,  the  longest  walk  I  ever  made,  fifty-four 
miles  in  one  day."  Professor  Wilson  once  walked  as 
much  as  seventy  miles  in  the  same  time.  Dickens  was  a 
great  pedestrian  —  walking  again  and  again  from  his 
place  at  Gad's  Hill  to  London  and  back  again  in  a  day. 
Lord  Macaulay's  long  afternoon  walks  through  every  part 
of  London  are  familiar  to  all. 

Gibbon  took  very  little  exercise.  He  had  been  staying 
for  a  length  of  time  with  Lord  Sheffield  in  the  country ; 
and  when  he  was  about  to  go  away,  the  servants  could  not 
find  his  hat.  "  Bless  me,"  said  Gibbon,  "  I  certainly  left  it 
in  the  hall  on  my  arrival  here."  He  had  not  stirred  out 
of  doors  during  the  whole  of  the  visit. 

Plato  thought  exercise  would  almost  cure  a  guilty  con- 
science.    Sydney   Smith  said,    "You   will   never  break 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  34I 

down  in  a  speech  on  the  day  when  you  have  walked 
twelve  miles." 

There  is  a  story  in  the  Arabian  Nights'  of  a  king  who 
had  long  languished  under  an  ill  habit  of  body,  and 
had  taken  abundance  of  remedies  to  no  purpose.  At 
length,  says  the  fable,  a  physician  cured  him  by  the  fol- 
lowing method :  he  took  an  hollow  ball  of  wood,  and 
filled  it  with  several  drugs ;  after  which  he  closed  it  up 
so  artificially  that  nothing  appeared.  He  likewise  took  a 
mall,  and  after  having  hollowed  the  handle  and  that  part 
which  strikes  the  ball,  he  inclosed  in  them  several  drugs 
after  the  same  manner  as  in  the  ball  itself.  He  then 
ordered  the  sultan,  who  was  his  patient,  to  exercise  him- 
self early  in  the  morning  with  these  rightly  prepared  in- 
struments, till  such  time  as  he  should  sweat ;  when,  as 
the  story  goes,  the  virtue  of  the  medicaments  perspiring 
through  the  wood,  had  so  good  an  influence  on  the  sul- 
tan's constitution,  that  they  cured  him  of  an  indisposition 
which  all  the  compositions  he  had  taken  inwardly  had  not 
been  able  to  remove.  This  Eastern  allegory  is  finely  con- 
trived to  show  us  how  beneficial  bodily  labor  is  to  health, 
and  that  exercise  is  the  most  effectual  physic.  We  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  an  indigestion  which  brisk  movement 
out  of  doors  would  effectually  drive  out  through  the  two 
or  three  million  pores  in  two  or  three  hours. 

Professor  Smith,  at  one  time  in  the  m.edical  chair  at 
Dartmouth,  gave  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  to  the  poor. 
The  Professor,  in  talking  with  Mr.  Webster  about  his 
experience  with  the  diseases  of  the  poor,  said  that  he 
thought  there  was  more  suffering  from  want  of  proper 
ventilation  than  from  disease  itself.  He  added,  that  it 
had  been  very  much  impressed  upon  his  mind  that  people 
did  not  know  the  value  of  good  ventilation.  He  often 
had  been  called  to  cases  of  fevers  and  the  like  among 
poor  people ;  and,  upon  arriving  at  the  house,  he  would 
find,  perhaps,  nobody  but  a  child  in  attendance,  —  the 


342  CHARACTERISTICS. 

husband  and  sons  being  away  at  work.  He  had  often, 
before  even  feeling  the  pulse  of  the  patient,  gone  to  the 
woodshed,  taken  wood  and  split  it  up,  carried  it  in-doors 
in  his  own  arms,  built  a  fire,  and  thrown  open  the  win- 
dows ;  and  he  could  see  the  patient  begin  to  revive  be- 
fore he  had  thought  of  medicine. 

Had  God  Almighty  intended  we  should  stint  ourselves 
in  air,  is  it  at  all  likely  he  would  have  poured  it  out  all 
round  the  world  forty  miles  deep  ? 

The  Persians  express  a  taste  for  out-doors  very  forci- 
bly. In  Bombay  the  Parsees  use  the  Victoria  Gardens 
chiefly  to  walk  in,  —  as  they  express  it,  "  to  eat  the  air." 
Their  enjoyment  of  it  is  more  than  animal  —  it  is  super- 
sensual. 

We  take  care  of  our  health ;  we  lay  up  money ;  we  make 
our  roof  tight,  and  our  clothing  sufficient ;  but  who,  asks 
Emerson,  provides  that  he  shall  not  be  wanting  in  the 
best  property  of  all,  —  friends  ?  The  question  was  once 
put  to  Aristotle  how  we  ought  to  behave  to  our  friends ; 
and  the  answer  he  gave  was,  "  As  we  should  wish  our 
friends  to  behave  to  us."  "  I  look  (says  Emerson  again) 
upon  the  simple  and  childish  virtues  of  veracity  and  hon- 
esty as  the  root  of  all  that  is  sublime  in  character.  Speak 
as  you  think,  be  what  you  are,  pay  your  debts  of  all 
kinds.  I  prefer  to  be  owned  as  sound  and  solvent,  and 
my  word  as  good  as  my  bond,  and  to  be  what  cannot  be 
skipped,  or  dissipated,  or  undermined,  to  all  the  eclat  in 
the  universe."  "  No  man,"  said  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  "  is 
wise  or  safe  but  he  that  is  honest."  "  There  is  scarce 
any  character  so  rare,"  says  Sterne,  in  one  of  his  ser- 
mons, "  as  a  man  of  real,  open,  and  generous  integrity  ; 
—  who  carries  his  heart  in  his  hand,  —  who  says  the 
thing  he  thinks,  and  does  the  thing  he  pretends.  Though 
no  one  can  dislike  the  character,  yet  discretion  generally 
shakes  her  head,  and  the  world  soon  lets  him  into  the 
reason."     When  you  find  a  person  a  little  better  than  his 


THE   ART   OF  LIVING.  343 

word,  a  little  more  liberal  than  his  promise,  a  little  more 
than  borne  out  in  his  statement  by  his  facts,  a  little  larger 
in  deed  than  in  speech,  you  recognize,  says  Holmes,  a 
kind  of  eloquence  in  that  person's  utterance  not  laid 
down  in  Blair  or  Campbell.  It  is  said  that  coming  into 
the  presence  of  the  Apollo,  the  body  insensibly  assumes 
a  nobler  posture.  It  seems  that  there  are  moral  and 
intellectual  natures  of  such  purity  and  elevation  and 
strength,  that  one  insensibly  assumes  a  more  upright  and 
noble  attitude  in  the  serene  presence  of  their  spotless 
lives.  The  homage  we  unconsciously  pay  to  worth  is 
illustrated  by  the  sensitive  plant  of  South  America. 
When  a  large  surface  of  ground  is  covered  the  effect  of 
walking  over  it  is  said  to  be  impressive.  At  each  step 
the  plants  for  some  distance  round  suddenly  droop,  as 
if  struck  with  awe,  and  a  broad  track  of  prostrate  herb- 
age, several  feet  wide,  is  distinctly  marked  out  by  the  dif- 
ferent color  of  the  closed  leaflets. 

Washington  Allston,  called,  in  Rome,  the  American 
Titian,  on  one  occasion,  when  crippled  in.  resources  in 
London,  having  sold  a  picture  for  a  considerable  sum,  as 
he  sat  alone  at  evening,  the  idea  occurred  to  him  that  the 
subject,  to  a  perverted  taste  and  prurient  im.agination, 
might  have  an  immoral  effect ;  he  instantly  returned  the 
money  and  regained  and  destroyed  the  painting.  There 
is  an  account  of  an  old  merchant,  who,  on  his  death-bed, 
divided  the  results  of  long  years  of  labor.  "  It  is  little 
enough,  my  boys,"  were  almost  the  last  words  of  the  old 
man ;  "  but  there  is  n't  a  dirty  shilling  in  the  whole  of 
it."  A  gentleman  that  had  a  trial  at  the  assizes  sent 
Sir  Matthew  Hale  a  buck  for  his  table  j  so,  according 
to  Bishop  Burnet,  his  biographer,  when  he  heard  the 
man's  name,  he  asked  if  he  were  not  the  same  person 
that  had  sent  him  venison ;  and,  finding  he  was  the  same, 
he  told  him  he  could  not  suffer  the  trial  to  go  on  till  he 
had  paid  him  for  his  buck.     To  which  the  gentleman  an- 


344  CHARACTERISTICS. 

swered,  that  he  never  sold  his  venison  j  that  he  had  done 
nothing  to  him  that  he  did  not  do  to  every  judge  that  had 
gone  that  circuit,  which  was  confirmed  by  several  gentle- 
men then  present;  but  all  would  not  do,  for  the  lord 
chief  baron  had  learned  from  Solomon,  that  a  gift  per- 
verteth  the  way  of  judgment,  and  therefore  he  would  not 
suffer  the  trial  to  go  on  till  he  had  paid  for  the  present ; 
upon  which  the  gentleman  withdrew  the  record. 

Albert  Gallatin  held  the  office  of  Secretary  of  the  Treas- 
ury through  three  presidential  terms,  under  Jefferson  and 
Madison,  till  1813.  Amongst  the  special  missions  of 
importance  to  which  he  was  appointed  was  one  to  Eng- 
land in  1 8 18.  While  in  this  office  he  rendered  some 
essential  service  to  Alexander  Baring  in  the  negotiation 
of  a  loan  for  the  French  Government.  Mr.  Baring  in 
return  pressed  him  to  take  a  part  of  the  loan,  offering 
him  such  advantages  in  it  that  without  advancing  any 
funds  he  could  have  realized  a  fortune.  "  I  thank  you," 
was  Gallatin's  reply ;  "  I  will  not  accept  your  obliging 
offer,  because  a  man  who  has  had  the  direction  of  the 
finances  of  his  country  as  long  as  I  have  should  not  die 
rich."  Which  memorable  answer  is  not  more  memorable 
than  a  sentence  in  a  private  letter  written  to  the  author 
of  this  composition  by  the  daughter  of  Robert  W.  Tayler, 
Comptroller  of  the  Treasury  for  sixteen  years,  from  1862 
till  the  day  of  his  death,  and  through  whose  hands  passed 
the  vouchers  for  thousands  of  millions.  "At  father's 
death,"  says  Miss  Jennie,  "  we  were  left  dependent  upon 
ourselves.  I  speak  of  this  because  you  were  his  friend, 
and  because  it  is  something  of  a  matter  of  pride  with  me, 
that  he  lived  and  died  a  poor  man." 

"  As  things  are,"  says  Froude,  "  we  have  little  idea  of 
what  a  human  being  ought  to  be.  After  the  first  rudi- 
mental  conditions  we  pass  at  once  into  meaningless 
generalities )  and  with  no  knowledge  to  guide  our  judg- 
ment, we  allow  it  to  be  guided  by  meaner  principles  j  we 


THE   ART  OF  LIVING.  345 

respect  money,  we  respect  rank,  we  respect  ability — 
character  is  as  if  it  had  no  existence.  How  little  respect 
do  we  pay  to  the  breach  of  this  or  that  commandment  in 
comparison  to  ability  ?  So  wholly  impossible  is  it  to  ap- 
ply the  received  opinions  on  such  matters  to  practice,  to 
treat  men  known  to  be  guilty  of  what  theology  calls 
deadly  sins,  as  really  guilty  of  them,  that  it  would  almost 
seem  we  had  fallen  into  a  moral  anarchy;  that  ability 
alone  is  what  we  regard,  without  any  reference  at  all,  ex- 
cept in  glaring  and  outrageous  cases,  to  moral  disquali- 
fications." 

Joubert  had  a  bad  opinion  of  the  lion  when  he  learned 
that  his  step  is  oblique.  It  is  Machiavelian  morals,  that 
virtue  itself  a  man  should  not  trouble  himself  to  obtain, 
but  only  the  appearance  of  it  to  the  world,  because  the 
credit  and  reputation  of  virtue  is  a  help,  but  the  use  of  it 
is  an  impediment. 

Thackeray  once  lost  a  pocket-book,  containing  a  pass- 
port and  a  couple  of  modest  ten-pound  notes.  The  per- 
son who  found  the  article  ingenuously  put  it  into  the 
box  of  the  post-office,  and  it  was  faithfully  restored  to  the 
owner ;  but  somehow  the  two  ten-pound  notes  were  ab- 
sent. It  was,  however,  a  great  comfort  to  the  great  nov- 
elist to  get  the  passport,  and  the  pocket-book,  which  was 
worth  about  nine  pence. 

The  cunning  of  Louis  XI.  admitted  to  one  or  two  pe- 
culiar forms  of  oath  the  force  of  a  binding  obligation, 
which  he  denied  to  all  others,  strictly  preserving  the  se- 
cret, which  mode  of  swearing  he  really  accounted  obliga- 
tory, as  one  of  the  most  valuable  of  state  mysteries. 

"  I  heard  Le  Sage  say,"  said  Spence,  "  I  thank  God, 
I  don't  wish  for  any  one  thing  that  I  could  not  pray  for 
aloud."  Madame  du  Deffand  objected  to  praying  not  to 
be  led  into  temptation,  on  the  ground  that  she  had  found 
temptation  very  pleasant.  She  also  disliked  praying  to 
be  made  good,  for  fear  that  she  should  be  taken  at  her 


346  CHARACTERISTICS. 

word.  She  did  not  believe  with  Jerrold,  that  conscience, 
be  it  ever  so  little  a  worm  while  we  live,  grows  suddenly 
to  a  serpent  on  our  death-bed.  "  My  lord  cardinal,"  said 
Anne  of  Austria  to  Richelieu,  "  there  is  one  fact  which 
you  seem  to  have  entirely  forgotten.  God  is  a  sure  pay- 
master. He  may  not  pay  at  the  end  of  every  week  or 
month  or  year ;  but  I  charge  you,  remember  that  he  pays 
in  the  end." 

There  are  three  sorts  of  lies,  in  the  judgment  of  Ma- 
homet, which  will  not  be  taken  into  account  at  the  last 
judgment :  ist,  one  told  to  reconcile  two  persons  at  vari- 
ance ;  2d,  that  which  a  husband  tells  when  he  promises 
any  thing  to  his  wife  ;  and,  3d,  a  chieftain's  word  in  time 
of  war.  Joe  Gargery  made  no  exceptions.  "  Lies  is  lies," 
he  said  to  Pip,  "  Howsoever  they  come,  they  did  n't 
ought  to  come,  and  they  come  from  the  father  of  lies, 
and  work  round  to  the  same.  Don't  you  tell  no  more  of 
them,  Pip.  .  .  .  Lookee  here,  Pip,  at  what  is  said  to  you 
by  a  true  friend.  Which  this  to  you  the  true  friend  says. 
If  you  can't  get  to  be  oncommon  through  going  straight, 
you  '11  never  get  to  do  it  through  going  crooked.  So 
don't  tell  no  more  on  'em,  Pip,  and  live  well  and  die 
happy."  Lying,  in  the  opinion  of  Leigh  Hunt,  is  the 
commonest  and  most  conventional  of  all  the  vices.  It 
pervades,  more  or  less,  every  class  of  the  community, 
and  is  fancied  to  be  so  necessary  to  the  carrying  on  of 
human  affairs,  that  the  practice  is  tacitly  agreed  upon  ; 
nay,  in  other  terms,  openly  avowed.  In  the  monarch,  it 
is  kingcraft.  In  the  statesman,  expediency.  In  the 
churchman,  mental  reservation.  In  the  lauyer,  the  inter- 
est of  his  client.  In  the  merchant,  manufacturer,  and 
shopkeeper,  secrets  of  trade.  There  is  no  lie,  said  John 
Sterling,  that  many  men  will  not  believe  ;  there  is  no  man 
who  does  not  believe  many  lies ;  and  there  is  no  man  who 
believes  only  lies. 

It  is  the  conclusion  of  Professor  Venable,  that  many 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  34/ 

teachers  of  morality  destroy  the  good  effect  of  judicious 
counsel  by  too  much  talk,  as  a  chemical  precipitate  is  re- 
dissolved  in  an  excess  of  the  precipitating  agent.  If  you 
would  convince  a  man  that  he  does  wrong,  said  Thoreau, 
do  rirrht.  But  do  not  care  to  convince  him.  Men  will 
believe  what  they  see.  Let  them  see.  Dr.  Telfair,  a 
philosopher  and  a  Christian,  used  to  insist  that  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Golden  Rule  is  not  to  be  preached,  but  only 
to  be  announced.  It  is  for  self-application  —  to  be  re- 
ceived and  acted  on  by  each  one,  and  not  to  be  taught 
by  him  to  another.  A  rule,  some  one  has  said,  which 
you  do  not  apply,  is  no  rule  at  all.  "  My  father,"  said 
the  Attic  Philosopher,  "  feared  every  thing  that  had  the 
appearance  of  a  lesson.  He  used  to  say  that  virtue 
could  make  herself  devoted  friends,  but  she  did  not  take 
pupils ;  therefore  he  was  not  anxious  to  teach  goodness ; 
he  contented  himself  with  sowing  the  seeds  of  it,  cer- 
tain that  experience  would  make  them  grow."  "  Good- 
ness," said  Lamb,  "blows  no  trumpet,  nor  desires  to 
have  it  blown."  "  I  hoped  for  much  advantage,"  said 
Leslie,  "from  studying  under  such  a  master  as  Fuseli, 
but  he  said  little  in  the  Academy.  He  generally  came 
into  the  room  once  in  the  course  of  every  evening,  and 
rarely  without  a  book  in  his  hand.  He  would  take  any 
vacant  place  among  the  students,  and  sit  reading  nearly 
the  whole  time  he  stayed  with  us.  I  believe  he  was  right. 
For  those  students  who  are  born  with  powers  that  will 
make  them  eminent,  it  is  sufficient  to  place  fine  works 
of  art  before  them.  They  do  not  want  instruction,  and 
those  that  do  are  not  worth  it.  Art  may  be  learnt,  but 
cannot  be  taught." 

Plutarch  says  of  Julius  Caesar  that  he  won  all  his  bat- 
tles by  saying  to  his  soldiers,  "  come,"  rather  than  "  go." 
So  it  is  in  morality,  thought  James  Freeman  Clarke. 
Who  are  those  who  have  done  us  good  ?  Who  but  those 
whose  goodness  has  inspired  us  with  love  of  virtue  ?    Not 


348  CHARACTERISTICS. 

denunciation,  but  example,  touches  the  heart.  That  is 
why  the  martyrs'  blood  is  the  seed  of  the  church.  We 
had  been  denouncing  slavery  as  sin,  with  small  apparent 
effect,  but  when  John  Brown  went  down  into  Virginia, 
and  died  on  the  scaffold  out  of  love  for  the  slave,  there 
came  a  sudden  inspiration  to  us  all.  The  brave  Sir  Jacob 
Astley's  prayer,  immediately  before  the  advance,  at  the 
battle  of  Edgehill,  was  short  and  fervent.  "  O,  Lord, 
thou  knowest  how  busy  I  must  be  this  day.  If  I  forget 
thee,  do  not  thou  forget  me.  Come  on,  boys  !  "  At  one 
time  Nelson's  ship,  the  Boreas,  was  full  of  young  midship- 
men, of  whom  there  were  not  less  than  thirty  on  board ; 
and  happy  were  they  whose  lot  it  was  to  be  placed  with 
such  a  captain.  If  he  perceived  that  a  boy  was  afraid  at 
first  going  aloft,  he  would  say  to  him  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner, "  Well,  sir,  I  am  going  a  race  to  the  mast-head,  and 
beg  that  I  may  meet  you  there."  The  poor  little  fellow 
instantly  began  to  climb,  and  got  up  how  he  could,  — 
Nelson  never  noticed  in  what  manner ;  but  when  they 
met  at  the  top,  spoke  cheerfully  to  him  ;  and  would  say, 
how  much  any  person  was  to  be  pitied  who  fancied  that 
getting  up  was  either  dangerous  or  difficult. 

Humanity —  human  nature  —  within  and  without  —  is 
well  illustrated  in  the  baobab-tree  of  Africa.  Dr.  Liv- 
ingstone, in  his  Missionary  Travels,  describes  it.  The 
description  is  interesting  in  itself,  and  interesting  for  the 
purpose  we  use  it.  "  No  external  injury,  not  even  fire, 
can  destroy  the  tree  from  without ;  nor  can  any  injury  be 
done  from  within,  as  it  is  quite  common  to  find  it  hollow. 
Nor  does  cutting  down  exterminate  it,  for  I  saw  instances 
in  Angola  in  which  it  continued  to  grow  in  length  after  it 
was  lying  on  the  ground.  Those  trees  called  exogenous 
grow  by  means  of  successive  layers  on  the  outside.  The 
inside  may  be  dead,  or  even  removed  altogether,  without 
affecting  the  life  of  the  tree.  The  other  class  is  called 
endogenous,  and  increases  by  layers  applied  to  the  in- 


THE   ART   OF  LIVING.  349 

side  j  and  when  the  hollow  there  is  full,  the  growth  is 
stopped  —  the  tree  must  die.  Any  injury  is  felt  most 
severely  by  the  first  class  on  the  bark  —  by  the  second 
on  the  inside ;  while  the  inside  of  the  exogenous  may  be 
removed  and  the  outside  of  the  endogenous  may  be  cut, 
without  stopping  the  growth  in  the  least." 

In  Dickens's  Miss  Havisham,  "  the  vanity  of  sorrow 
had  become  a  master  mania,  like  the  vanity  of  penitence, 
the  vanity  of  remorse,  the  vanity  of  unworthiness,  and 
other  monstrous  vanities  that  have  been  curses  in  this 
world."  Holmes  describes  the  widow  Rowans  in  "the 
full  bloom  of  ornamental  sorrow.  A  very  shallow  crape 
bonnet,  frilled  and  froth-like,  allowed  the  parted  raven 
hair  to  show  its  glossy  smoothness.  A  jet  pin  heaved 
upon  her  bosom  with  every  sigh  of  memory,  or  emotion 
of  unknown  origin.  Jet  bracelets  shone  with  every  move- 
ment of  her  slender  hands,  cased  in  close-fitting  black 
gloves.  Her  sable  dress  was  ridged  with  manifold 
flounces,  from  beneath  which  a  small  foot  showed  itself 
from  time  to  time,  clad  in  the  same  hue  of  mourning. 
Every  thing  about  her  was  dark,  except  the  whites  of  her 
eyes  and  the  enamel  of  her  teeth.  The  effect  was  com- 
plete. Gray's  Elegy  was  not  a  more  complete  composi- 
tion." 

"  You  once  observed  to  me,"  wrote  Dr.  Channing  to 
Lucy  Aiken,  "that  every  where  the  Sovereign  is  wor- 
shiped ;  with  us,  that  sovereign  is  an  idol  called  Gentil- 
ity, and  costly  are  the  offerings  laid  upon  the  altar. 
Dare  to  make  conversation  in  the  most  accomplished  so- 
ciety something  of  an  exercise  of  the  mind,  and  not  a 
mere  dissipation,  and  you  instantly  become  that  thing  of 
horror,  a  Bore." 

That  caustic  satirist,  Jerrold,  says,  "  There  are  a  good 
many  pious  people  who  are  as  careful  of  their  religion  as 
of  their  best  service  of  china,  only  using  it  on  holiday 
occasions,  for  fear  it  should  get  chipped  or  flawed  in 


350  CHARACTERISTICS. 

working-day  wear."  "  Eve,"  says  the  same  wicked  wit, 
"ate  the  apple,  that  she  might  dress." 

Emerson,  in  one  of  his  Essays,  expresses  the  opinion 
that  "  The  end  of  all  political  struggle  is  to  establish  mo- 
rality as  the  basis  of  all  legislation.  'T  is  not  free  insti- 
tutions, 't  is  not  a  democracy  that  is  the  end,  —  no,  but 
only  the  means.  Morality  is  the  end  of  government. 
We  want  a  state  of  things  in  which  crime  will  not  pay,  a 
state  of  things  which  allows  every  man  the  largest  liberty 
compatible  with  the  libert}'  of  every  other  man."  Man, 
it  is  very  truly  said,  will  not  be  made  temperate  or  virtu- 
ous by  the  strong  hand  of  the  law,  but  by  the  teaching 
and  influence  of  moral  power.  A  man  is  no  more  made 
sober  by  act  of  parliament  than  a  woman  is  made  chaste. 

"  They  that  cry  down  moral  honesty,"  said  old  John 
Selden,  "  cry  down  that  which  is  a  great  part  of  religion, 
my  dut}^  towards  God,  and  my  duty  towards  man.  What 
care  I  to  see  a  man  run  after  a  sermon,  if  he  cozens  and 
cheats  as  soon  as  he  comes  home."  "  If  thou  hadst  but 
discretion,  Sancho,  equal  to  thy  natural  abilities,  thou 
mightest  take  to  the  pulpit,  and  go  preaching  about  the 
world."  "A  good  liver  is  the  best  preacher,"  replied 
Sancho,  "  and  that  is  all  the  divinity  I  know."  "  Or  need 
know,"  responded  the  Don. 

"  There  are,"  said  Miss  Spence,  in  John  Buncle,  "  heav- 
enly-mindedness,  and  contempt  of  the  world,  and  choos- 
ing rather  to  die  than  commit  a  moral  evil.  Such  things, 
however,  are  not  much  esteemed  by  the  generality  of 
Christians :  Most  people  laugh  at  them,  and  look  upon 
them  as  indiscretions;  therefore  there  is  but  little  true 
Christianity  in  the  world.  It  has  never,"  she  said,  "  been 
my  luck  to  meet  with  many  people  that  had  these  three 
necessary  qualifications." 

One  day,  when  some  one  remarked,  "  Christianity  is 
part  and  parcel  of  the  law  of  the  land,"  Rolfe,  afterward 
Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  whispered  to  a  barrister 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  35 1 

near  by,  "  Were  you  ever  employed  to  draw  an  indictment 
against  a  man  for  not  loving  his  neighbor  as  himself  ?  " 

An  eminent  German  saw  a  poor  old  woman  at  a  station 
of  a  calvary  in  Bavaria,  who  was  crawling  on  her  knees 
up  the  hill.  She  told  her  story.  A  rich  lady  who  had 
sinned  was  required  by  her  confessor  to  go  on  her  knees 
as  many  times  up  the  calvary ;  but  she  might  do  it  by 
deputy.  She  paid  this  poor  woman  24  kreutzers  (17 
cents)  for  a  day's  journey  on  her  knees,  "  which,"  said 
the  woman,  "  is  poor  wages  for  a  day's  hard  labor ;  and 
I  have  three  children  to  maintain.  And  unless  charitable 
souls  give  me  more,  my  children  must  go  half  fed." 

Every  body  is  familiar  with  a  class  of  assassins  in  Brit- 
ish India  (now  happily  nearly  exterminated),  organized 
into  a  society,  with  chiefs,  a  service,  a  free-masonry,  and 
even  a  religion,  which  has  its  fanaticism,  and  its  devotion, 
its  agents,  its  emissaries,  its  assistants,  its  moving  bodies, 
its  passive  comrades  who  contribute  by  their  subscriptions 
to  "  the  good  work."  Comte  de  Warren  describes  it  in 
his  work  on  British  India.  "  It  is  a  community  of  Thugs, 
a  religious  and  working  confraternity,  who  war  against 
the  human  race  by  exterminating  them,  and  whose  origin 
is  lost  in  the  night  of  ages.  The  foundation  of  the 
Thuggee  confraternity  is  a  religous  belief,  the  worship  of 
Bohwanie,  a  dark  divinity  who  loves  nothing  but  carnage, 
and  hates  especially  the  human  race.  Her  most  accept- 
able sacrifices  are  human  victims,  and  the  more  of  these 
are  offered  up  in  this  world,  the  more  will  you  be  recom- 
pensed in  the  next  by  joys  of  the  soul  and  the  senses, 
and  by  females  always  young,  fresh,  and  lovely.  If  the 
assassin  should  meet  with  the  scaffold  in  his  career,  he 
dies  with  enthusiasm,  a  martyr  whom  a  palm  awaits.  To 
obey  his  divine  mistress,  he  murders,  without  anger  and 
without  remorse,  the  old  man,  the  woman,  and  the  child. 
To  his  colleagues  he  must  be  charitable,  humane,  gener- 
ous, devoted,  sharing  all  in  common,  because  they,  as  well 
as  he,  are  ministers  and  adopted  children  of  Bohwanie." 


352  CHARACTERISTICS. 

"  The  fasts  of  the  Greek  church,"  Kinglake  tells  us, 
"  produce  an  ill  effect  upon  the  character  of  the  people, 
for  they  are  carried  to  such  an  extent,  as  to  bring  about 
a  bona  fide  mortification  of  the  flesh;  the  febrile  irrita- 
tion of  the  frame  operating  in  conjunction  with  the  de- 
pression of  spirits  occasioned  by  abstinence,  will  so  far 
answer  the  object  of  the  rite,  as  to  engender  some  relig- 
ious excitement,  but  this  is  of  a  morbid  and  gloomy  char- 
acter, and  it  seems  to  be  certain,  that  along  with  the 
increase  of  sanctity,  there  comes  a  fierce  desire  for  the 
perpetration  of  dark  crimes.  The  number  of  murders 
committed  during  Lent  is  reported  greater  than  at  any 
other  time  of  the  year." 

As  an  instance  of  the  little  influence  the  religion  of  the 
Italians  had  upon  their  morals,  Hiram  Powers  told  Haw- 
thorne of  one  of  his  servants,  who  desired  leave  to  set 
up  a  small  shrine  of  the  Virgin  in  her  room  —  a  cheap 
print,  or  bas  relief,  or  image,  such  as  are  sold  every 
where  at  the  shops  —  and  to  burn  a  lamp  before  it ;  she 
engaging,  of  course,  to  supply  the  oil  at  her  own  expense. 
By  and  by  her  oil-flask  appeared  to  possess  a  miraculous 
property  of  replenishing  itself,  and  Mr.  Powers  took 
measures  to  ascertain  where  the  oil  came  from.  It 
turned  out  that  the  servant  had  all  the  time  been  stealing 
the  oil  from  him,  and  keeping  up  her  daily  sacrifice  and 
worship  to  the  Virgin  by  this  constant  theft.  Haw- 
thorne's wife  came  in  contact  with  a  pickpocket  at  the 
entrance  of  an  Italian  church ;  and,  failing  in  his  enter- 
prise upon  her  purse,  he  passed  in,  dipped  his  thieving 
fingers  in  the  holy -water,  and  paid  his  devotion  at  a 
shrine.  Missing  the  purse,  he  said  his  prayers,  in  the 
hope,  perhaps,  that  the  saint  would  send  him  better  luck 
another  time. 

"  It  is  easier,"  says  a  thoughtful  English  writer,  "to  be 
a  learned  man  than  a  good  man.  Why  morals  should  be 
so  difficult,  stirs  another  and  a  deeper  question ;  for  we 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  353 

must  suppose  that  there  is  a  wisdom  in  the  fact.  A  ques- 
tion of  creeds  is  but  a  petty  question  at  any  time.  The 
real  question  lies  deeper." 

In  England,  Theodore  Parker  met  an  Episcopal  clergy- 
man whose  liberal  sentiments  enticed  him  into  conversa- 
tion. "  I  asked  him,"  said  the  American  divine,  "  if  it 
were  not  possible  for  all  classes  of  Christians  to  agree  to 
differ  about  theological  symbols,  ceremonies,  disciplines, 
modes,  and  the  like,  while  they  fell  back  on  the  great 
principles  of  religion  and  morality ;  in  a  word,  on  relig- 
ion and  morality  themselves ;  and  I  told  him  that  I  had 
aimed  in  my  humble  way  to  bring  this  about.  He  said 
he  liked  the  plan  much,  and  did  not  see  why  all  should 
not  unite  on  these  principles  as  they  were  expressed  in 
the  Thirty-Nine  Articles."  When  Oliver  Cromwell  was 
contending  for  the  mastery,  he  besieged  a  certain  Catho- 
lic town.  The  place  made  a  stout  resistance ;  but  at 
length,  being  about  to  be  taken,  the  poor  Catholics  pro- 
posed terms  of  capitulation,  among  which  was  one  stipu- 
lating for  the  toleration  of  their  religion.  The  paper 
containing  the  conditions  being  presented  to  Cromwell, 
he  put  on  his  spectacles,  and,  after  deliberately  examin- 
ing it,  cried  out,  "  Oh,  yes  ;  granted,  granted,  certainly ; 
but,"  he  added,  with  stern  determination,  "  if  one  of  them 
shall  dare  be  found  attending  mass,  he  shall  be  instantly 
hanged  ! " 

It  is  not  improbable,  if  the  disposition  of  a  great  part 
of  the  clergy  continues,  to  give  less  and  less  attention  to 
what  the  world  esteems  as  morals,  apart  from  what  they 
esteem  religion,  that  a  system  of  schools  will  arise,  in 
which  radical  morals,  as  an  essential  part  of  religion,  will 
be  taught  to  the  people.  Attempts  to  divorce  them,  only 
tend  to  weaken  and  confuse  the  public  conscience,  while 
they  diminish  the  influence  of  spiritual  leaders. 

The  time  may  come  also,,  we  opine,  when  chairs  of 
common  sense  will  be  set  up  in  the  universities.  The 
23 


354  CHARACTERISTICS. 

trouble  may  be  to  fill  them ;  but  suitable  men,  when 
wanted,  will  be  found.  The  distinction  between  scholar- 
ship and  usefulness  will  be  better  defined.  Boys  will 
more  and  more  be  educated  for  the  uses  of  education ; 
and  so  much  that  must  be  unlearned  will  give  place  to 
what  may  be  applied. 

The  sculptor  Chan  trey  pointed  out  to  one  of  his  friends 
the  bad  effects  of  light  from  two  windows  falling  on  a 
column  in  the  Louvre,  and  said,  "  The  ancients  worked 
with  a  knowledge  of  the  place  where  the  statue  was  to 
be,  and  anticipated  the  light  to  which  it  would  be  ex- 
posed." In  like  manner,  education  should  be  adapted  to 
the  character  and  wants  of  each  individual,  anticipating, 
as  far  as  practicable,  occupation  and  position  in  life. 

"  What  is  true  by  the  lamp  is  not  always  true  by  the 
sun,"  -says  Joubert.  The  bad  effect  —  perhaps  the  only 
bad  effect  —  of  education  is  what  has  been  called  "  its 
inflating  tendency  — to  turn  the  educated  into  a  clique  or 
caste  who  think  of  those  who  have  no  education  as  the 
Pharisees  thought  of  the  '  accursed '  people  who  knew 
not  the  law." 

The  boy  should  be  taught  to  have  some  apprehension 
of  the  diffusion  and  universality  of  intelligence  ;  that  no 
man  has  it  all,  but  every  man  a  little  ;  that  the  average  is 
always  worthy  of  respectful  consultation  ;  that  the  edu- 
cation of  the  schools  is  but  as  the  scaffolding  and  tools 
to  the  builder  (bearing  in  mind  all  the  time  that  the 
building  that  is  to  endure  is  not  made  with  hands)  ;  that 
the  hodman  and  the  farm  hand  must  teach  him  many 
things  he  must  know ;  that  the  Commentaries  of  Caesar 
—  valuable  enough  for  culture  —  and  the  maxims  of 
philosophy,  must  give  way  again  and  again,  and  without 
humiliation,  to  the  commonest  experience  of  the  meanest 
man,  whom  he  would  despise  till  he  has  fairly  put  his 
mind  and  fact  to  his  in  the  conflict  of  affairs ;  in  fine,  that 
he  must  surrender  his  self-conceit,  be  put  upon  his  feet 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  355 

with  the  crowd,  and  totally  unlearn  and  forget  very  much 
that  he  has  learned  before  he  can  begin  to  be  truly  sen- 
sible and  wise. 

Sensible  men,  it  is  truly  said,  are  very  rare.  A  sensi- 
ble man  does  not  brag,  avoids  introducing  the  names  of 
his  creditable  companions,  omits  himself  as  habitually  as 
another  man  obtrudes  himself  in  the  discourse,  and  is 
content  with  putting  his  fact  or  theme  simply  on  its 
ground.  Conduct  is  three-fourths  of  life,  thought  Mat- 
thew Arnold,  and  a  man  who  works  for  conduct,  therefore, 
works  for  more  than  a  man  who  works  for  intelligence. 
"  I  always  feel  happy  near  Meyer,"  said  Eckermann, 
"  probably  because  he  is  a  self-relying,  satisfied  person, 
who  takes  but  little  notice  of  the  circumstances  around 
him,  but  at  suitable  intervals  exhibits  his  own  comfortable 
soul.  At  the  same  time,  he  is  every  where  well  grounded, 
possesses  the  greatest  treasures  of  knowledge,  and  a 
memory  to  which  the  most  remote  events  are  as  present 
as  if  they  happened  yesterday.  He  has  a  preponderance 
of  understanding  which  might  make  us  dread  him,  if  it 
did  not  rest  upon  the  noblest  culture ;  but,  as  it  is,  his 
quiet  presence  is  always  agreeable,  always  instructive." 

Life  should  teach  us  our  deficiencies,  and  our  indus- 
try should  supply  them.  The  Moravian  missionaries  very 
soon  found  out  and  acknowledged  that  they  must  teach 
their  converts  to  count  the  number  three  before  they 
taught  them  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 

Immorality,  as  before  affirmed,  is  often  only  ignorance. 
A  set  of  constituents  once  waited  upon  the  member  of 
parliament  whom  they  had  chosen,  to  request  that  he 
would  vote  against  the  Minister.  "  What !  "  he  answered, 
with  an  oath ;  "  have  I  not  bought  you  ?  and  do  you  think 
I  will  not  sell  you  ?  " 

How  to  live  with  unfit  companions,  is  an  important 
part  of  education ;  for,  with  such,  said  a  wise  man,  life  is 
for  the  most  part  spent :  and  experience  teaches  little  bet- 


356  CHARACTERISTICS. 

ter  than  our  earliest  instinct  of  self-defense,  namely,  not 
to  engage,  not  to  mix  yourself  in  any  manner  with  them ; 
but  let  their  madness  spend  itself  unopposed. 

A  sensible  man  considers  his  situation,  and  is  careful 
not  to  over-estimate  himself.  His  ears,  his  eyes,  and  his 
reflection  make  him  circumspect.  He  is  not  apt  to  be 
in  the  predicament  of  the  man  who  was  anxious  to  be 
introduced  to  a  deaf  woman,  but  when  he  was  presented, 
and  one  end  of  her  ear-trumpet  was  put  into  his  hand, 
had  nothing  to  say.  "  Nature,  I  am  persuaded,"  says 
Rabelais,  "  did  not  without  a  cause  frame  our  ears  open, 
putting  thereto  no  gates  at  all,  nor  shutting  them  up  with 
any  manner  of  inclosures,  as  she  hath  done  upon  the 
tongue,  the  eyes,  and  other  such  outjutting  parts  of  the 
body.  The  cause,  as  I  imagine,  is,  to  the  end  that  every 
day  and  every  night,  and  that  continually,  we  may  be 
ready  to  hear,  and  by  a  perpetual  hearing  apt  to  learn." 

Common  sense,  with  common  reflection,  is  not  apt  to 
suffer  from  the  confusion,  in  common  matters,  of  cause 
and  effect,  which  certain  ignorant  islanders  once  dis- 
played, referred  to  in  Boswell's  Johnson.  They  invented 
all  sorts  of  superstitions  to  account  for  their  being  seized 
with  colds  in  their  heads  whenever  a  ship  arrived,  until  it 
occurred  to  an  intelligent  reverend  gentleman  to  find  the 
cause  in  the  fact  that  a  vessel  could  enter  the  harbor 
only  when  a  strong  north-east  wind  was  blowing.  And 
in  a  certain  part  of  Scotland  the  servants  on  a  farm  suf- 
fered every  spring  from  fever  and  ague,  which  was  re- 
ceived as  a  judgment  of  God  upon  their  sins,  until  with 
proper  drainage  of  the  land  the  disorder  disappeared. 

Big  words,  where  little  ones  were  better,  generally  arise 
from  an  ignorant  misapprehension  of  means  to  ends.  A 
good  story  is  told  of  a  senator,  staying  at  a  hotel  in  St. 
Louis.  He  saw  from  his  window  that,  just  across  the 
street,  a  house  was  on  fire.  He  instantly  raised  the  win- 
dow, and  began  to  shout  to  the  people,  as  they  passed 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  357 

along,  in  stentorian  tones,  "  Conflagration !  conflagra- 
tion !  conflagration  !  "  But  to  his  utter  amazement,  the 
people  paid  no  attention  to  him  whatever.  Finally,  be- 
coming exasperated,  he  threw  away  the  word  conflagra- 
tion, and  began  to  shout  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Fire ! " 
The  people  understood  at  once,  and  the  fire  was  put  out. 

A  great  advantage  of  common  sense  with  education  is 
to  enable  us  to  see  the  direct  way  to  an  object  or  result. 
There  is  an  incident  of  a  well-known  Oxford  man,  who 
one  day  saw  a  favorite  pupil  who  was  within  an  hour  to 
take  his  place  in  the  school  for  final  examination.  "  I  'm 
in  for  Butler's  Analogy,"  said  the  student,  "  and  have  not 
had  time  to  read  it  through."  "  All  Butler's  governing 
ideas,"  mildly  remarked  the  tutor,  "  are  reducible  to  four. 
You  can  learn  them  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  you 
must  manipulate  them  as  well  as  you  can."  The  pupil 
passed  a  capital  examination  in  Butler.  Short  cuts  are 
good,  if  you  know  how  to  take  them. 

Rufus  Choate  and  Daniel  Webster  were  once  opposed 
to  each  other  as  lawyers  in  a  suit  which  turned  on  the 
size  of  certain  wheels.  Mr.  Choate  filled  the  air  with  the 
rockets  of  rhetoric,  and  dazzled  the  jury,  but  Mr.  Web- 
ster caused  the  wheels  to  be  brought  into  court  and  put 
behind  a  screen.  When  he  rose  to  speak  the  screen  was 
removed,  and  his  only  reply  to  Choate's  eloquence  was, 
"  Gentlemen  !  there  are  the  wheels  !  " 

At  Palermo,  Lord  Dundonald  met  with  Lord  Nelson, 
and  through  life  adopted  as  his  own  the  injunction  he  re- 
ceived from  the  victor  of  Trafalgar :  "  Never  mind  ma- 
noeuvres ;  always  go  at  'em." 

The  prime  mischief  of  modern  education,  mental  and 
moral,  is  "  cramming."  Fuseli  did  not  attempt  to  make 
all  his  pupils  alike  by  teaching.  He  saw  in  Wilkie,  Mul- 
ready,  Etty,  Landseer,  and  Haydon,  peculiar  talents,  and 
through  his  "wise  neglect,"  they  became  distinguished. 
^Coleridge  opposed  the  system  of  "cramming"  children, 


358  CHARACTERISTICS. 

and  especially  satirized  the  moral  rules  for  juvenile  read- 
ers, lately  introduced.  "  I  infinitely  prefer,"  he  said, 
"  The  Seven  Champions  of  Christendom,  Jack  the  Giant- 
Killer,  and  such  like  :  for  at  least  they  make  the  child  for- 
get himself :  but  when  in  your  good-child  stories,  a  little 
boy  comes  in  and  says,  *  Mamma,  I  met  a  poor  beggar- 
man,  and  gave  him  the  sixpence  you  gave  me  yesterday. 
Did  I  do  right  ? '  '  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  to  be  sure  you 
did.'  This  is  not  virtue  but  vanity.  Such  lessons  do 
not  teach  goodness,  byt,  if  I  might  hazard  such  a  word, 
goodiness." 

Sainte-Beuve,  it  is  related,  as  he  grew  older,  came  to 
regard  all  experience  as  a  single  great  book,  in  which  to 
study  for  a  few  years  ere  we  go  to  heaven  ;  and  it  seemed 
all  one  to  him  whether  you  should  read  in  chapter  XX., 
which  is  the  differential  calculus,  or  in  chapter  XXXIX., 
which  is  hearing  the  band  play  in  the  gardens.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  an  intelligent  person,  looking  out  of  his 
eyes,  and  hearkening  in  his  ears,  with  a  smile  on  his  face 
all  the  time,  will  get  more  true  education  than  many  an- 
other in  a  life  of  heroic  vigils. 

The  motto  to  Leigh  Hunt's  Indicator  is  a  description  of 
a  bird  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  called  the  bee-cuckoo,  or 
honey-bird,  whose  habits  would  rather  seem  to  belong  to 
the  interior  of  Fairyland,  but  they  have  been  well  authen- 
ticated. It  indicates  to  honey-hunters  where  the  nests  of 
wild  bees  are  to  be  found.  It  calls  them  with  a  cheerful 
cry,  which  they  answer ;  and  on  finding  itself  recognized, 
flies  and  hovers  over  a  hollow  tree  containing  the  honey. 
While  they  are  occupied  in  collecting  it,  the  bird  goes  to 
a  little  distance,  where  he  observes  all  that  passes ;  and 
the  hunters,  when  they  have  helped  themselves,  take  care 
to  leave  him  his  portion  of  the  food. 

A  happy  man  or  woman,  some  one  has  said,  is  a  better 
thing  to  find  than  a  five-pound  note.  He  or  she  is  a  ra- 
diating focus  of  good  will ;  and  their  entrance  into  a  room 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  359 

is  as  though  another  candle  had  been  lighted.  We  need 
not  care  whether  they  could  prove  the  forty-seventh  prop- 
osition ;  they  do  a  better  thing  than  that,  they  practically 
demonstrate  the  great  theorem  of  the  reasonableness  of 
life. 

You  remember  the  immortal  fireside  saint,  St.  Jenny, 
created  and  canonized  by  Jerrold.  "  St.  Jenny  was  wed- 
ded to  a  very  poor  man  j  they  had  scarcely  bread  to  keep 
them ;  but  Jenny  was  of  so  sweet  a  temper  that  even 
want  bore  a  bright  face,  and  Jenny  always  smiled.  In  the 
worst  seasons  Jenny  would  spare  crumbs  for  the  birds, 
and  sugar  for  the  bees.  Now  it  so  happened  that  one 
auturxin  a  storm  rent  their  cot  in  twenty  places  apart ; 
when,  behold,  between  the  joints,  from  the  basement  to 
the  roof,  there  was  nothing  but  honeycomb  and  honey  — 
a  little  fortune  for  St.  Jenny  and  her  husband,  in  honey. 
Now,  some  said  it  was  the  bees,  but  more  declared  it  was 
the  sweet  temper  of  St.  Jenny  that  had  filled  the  poor 
man's  house  with  honey." 

As  solace  alone,  books  are  very  much  to  many ;  "  but  the 
scholar  only  knows,"  says  Washington  Irving,  "how  dear 
these  silent,  yet  eloquent,  companions  of  pure  thoughts 
and  innocent  hours  become  in  the  seasons  of  adversity. 
When  all  that  is  worldly  turns  to  dross  around  us,  these 
only  retain  their  steady  value.  When  friends  grow  cold, 
and  the  converse  of  intimates  languishes  into  vapid  civil- 
ity and  commonplace,  these  only  continue  the  unaltered 
countenance  of  happier  days<  and  cheer  us  with  that  true 
friendship  which  never  deceived  hope,  nor  deserted  sor- 
row." 

We  are  told  of  an  Indian  bird,  which,  enjoying  the  sun- 
shine all  the  day,  secures  a  faint  reflection  of  it  in  the 
night,  by  sticking  glow-worms  over  the  walls  of  its  nest. 
And  something  of  this  light  is  obtained,  it  is  observed, 
from  the  books  read  in  youth,  to  be  remembered  in  age. 
"  Summer's  green  all  girded  up  in  sheaves." 


360  CHARACTERISTICS. 

At  the  battle  of  Edgehill,  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the 
Duke  of  York,  then  ten  and  twelve  years  old,  were  on  the 
hill.  "They  were  placed,"  says  Lord  Nugent,  "under 
the  care  of  Dr.  William  Harvey,  after\yard  so  famous  for 
his  discoveries  concerning  the  circulation  of  the  blood, 
and  then  Physician  in  Ordinary  to  the  King.  During  the 
action,  forgetful  both  of  his  position  and  of  his  charge, 
and  too  sensible  of  the  value  of  time  to  a  philosophic 
mind  to  be  cognizant  of  bodily  danger,  he  took  out  a 
book,  and  sat  him  down  on  the  grass  to  read,  till,  warned 
by  the  sound  of  the  bullets  that  grazed  and  whistled 
round  him,  he  rose,  and  withdrew  the  princes  to  a  securer 
distance." 

Scott  (one  of  his  biographers  tells  us)  received  a  let- 
ter from  his  old  friend.  Sir  Adam  Ferguson,  captain  in  the 
58th  regiment,  then  serving  in  the  Peninsula.  The  gal- 
lant soldier  had  just  received  a  copy  of  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  and  had  it  with  him  when  his  company  was  posted 
on  a  piece  of  ground  exposed  to  the  enemy's  shot.  The 
men  were  ordered  to  lie  prostrate,  and,  while  they  kept 
that  attitude,  the  captain,  kneeling  at  their  head,  read 
aloud  the  description  of  the  battle  of  BeaF  an  Dhuine,  in 
the  sixth  canto,  and  the  listening  soldiers  only  interrupted 
him  by  an  occasional  huzza  as  the  French  shot  struck  the 
bank  above  them. 

It  has  been  said,  that  of  all  the  toils  in  which  man  en- 
gages, none  are  nobler  in  their  origin  or  their  aim  than 
those  by  which  he  endeavors  to  become  more  wise.  We 
may  say,  as  well,  that  no  one  should  be  discouraged  by 
this  discovery,  that  "  the  more  there  is  known,  the  more 
it  is  perceived  there  is  to  be  known ; "  for,  it  is  also  true, 
that  "  the  infinity  of  knowledge  to  be  acquired  runs  par- 
allel with  the  infinite  faculty  of  knowing,  and  its  develop- 
ment." The  possibilities  of  infinite  culture  can  be  only 
imperfectly  anticipated  on  this  "  shoal  of  time."  Heaven 
orders  that  our  intellects  can  be  employed  only  in  part. 


THE  ART   OF  LIVING.  361 

The  human  brain  is  wonderfully  constructed  ;  but  it  has 
its  limitations.  The  mental  physiologist  tells  us  that  a 
fragment  of  the  gray  substance  of  it,  not  larger  than  the 
head  of  a  small  pin,  contains  parts  of  many  thousands  of 
commingled  globes  and  fibres.  Of  ganglion  globules  alone, 
according  to  the  estimate  of  the  physiologist  Meynert, 
there  cannot  be  less  than  six  hundred  millions  in  the  con- 
volutions of  a  human  brain.  They  are,  indeed,  in  such 
infinite  numbers  that  possibly  only  a  small  portion  of  the 
globules  provided  are  ever  turned  to  account  in  even  the 
most  energetic  brains.  Dr.  Maudsley  contrasts  the  fif- 
teen thousand  words  which  Shakespeare  employs  for  the 
expression  of  his  ideas  with  the  hundreds  of  millions  of 
brain  globules  that  must  have  been  concerned  in  the  pro- 
duction of  this  intellectual  harvest.  The  little  that  we 
can  know  here,  is,  at  best,  only  the  alphabet  of  the  course 
progressive  and  unending.  What  we  cannot  see  now, 
will  be  apparent  hereafter  to  our  improved  vision,  as  the 
high-flying  birds,  twenty  thousand  feet  above  the  earth, 
and  countless  stars  of  heaven,  are  seen  clearly  by  the 
telescope.  The  parchment  used  by  the  ancients,  from 
which  one  writing  was  erased,  and  on  which  another  was 
written,  was  called  a  palimpsest.  "  What  else  than  a 
natural  and  mighty  palimpsest,"  exclaims  De  Quincey, 
"  is  the  human  brain  ?  Everlasting  layers  of  ideas,  im- 
ages, feelings,  have  fallen  upon  your  brain  softly  as  light. 
Each  succession  has  served  to  bury  all  that  went  before. 
And  yet,  in  reality,  not  one  has  been  extinguished." 
Doubtless  it  will  appear,  at  the  great  restoration,  that 
enough  has  been  impressed,  in  one  short  earthly  exist- 
ence, to  more  than  compensate  for  all  its  ills,  and  hope- 
fully to  encourage  a  start  in  the  life  that  is  illimitable. 

Yet,  in  the  here,  we  long  for  the  fruition  of  the  hereaf- 
ter. The  sigh  and  the  longing  are  irrepressible.  The 
San  Carlos  Theatre  at  Naples  was  so  placed  that  Vesu- 
vius might  be  seen  from  the  royal  box.     Ah !  if  only  it 


362  CHARACTERISTICS. 

were  possible,  in  the  drama  of  this  life,  to  be  so  disposed 
as  to  have  occasional  visions  of  the  Eternal. 

One  day  a  good  old  man  saw  a  bird  fluttering  in  the 
road  before  him.  He  took  it  up,  and  found  it  was  a 
robin,  whose  plumage  was  so  filled  with  the  burs  of  the 
fields  that  it  could  not  fly.  He  picked  out  the  burs  ten- 
derly, and  the  creature  flew  away.  Alas !  the  clogs,  en- 
tanglements, and  limitations.  But  how  glorious  the 
emancipation ! 


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